Consequences
by bluejay
Summary: Four years have gone by since Cheyenne Freemont dropped the bomb that changed Dick's and the rest of the Bat family's life. Now a dark figure from Dick's past is threatening their youngest member. Sequel to Choices, co-written with InvisibleBrunette.
1. Prologue

Notes: Here we are again, with a multi-chap for our Dusty-verse. I'm slowly going through my to-write list and finishing stories while InvisibleBrunette is working on other stuff. She claims I've got the longer list :/

* * *

It was a Wayne party; meaning it was an extravagant social event where up-and-comings need to be seen in while the already-rich needed to grace it with their presence. And if you were lucky or important enough to be invited to this kind of party, you had to be there wearing your finest: the most beautiful designer gown or tux in your closet and the most extravagant accessories in your dresser. And so that night, the large ballroom was decorated with lovely flower arrangements and crystal chandeliers whose sparkle rivalled those of the milling throng beneath. For one night, everything was beautiful and glittery and the law-abiding public were enjoying themselves.

But for a man like Carters, the night held a different meaning altogether: a Wayne party meant a lot of bling for the swiping.

His half-dozen armed thugs were unaccompanied by any of the costumed freaks Gotham was well-known for - a fact his men were happy of. They didn't need the notoriety nor the wasted effort in 'playing nice' to a psycho. All they had - and needed - was bravado and a kind of desperation that had them ignoring the warnings the other Gotham lowlifes told them about not angering the Bat. After all, it was just a party like any other socialite party in Gotham - only there was a lot more riches at stake.

"That's it, just add your pretty baubles to my buddy's sack there and no one gets hurt." Carters encouraged with a nudge to the red-gowned lady's back as she nervously walked up with her jewelry in her hands.

The happy chatter that filled the ballroom minutes ago had fallen away to fearful murmurs and sobs as the guests dropped their riches to the sack Junior was holding. Carters watched with glee as each sparkling gem and fat wallet slowly filled the canvas sack. He was beginning to feel the heat of a tropical sun on his skin the heavier the sack became.

They had only reached half of the guests when the gang leader suddenly realized his half-dozen had suddenly lost two members.

A stab of fear shot into him as the thug swung his gun around in a shaky arc, scanning the frightened party-goers for the spectre that had taken his men. "Sammy? Jake?"

There was a series of thumps and he swung around to find the four had been reduced to three. The grim warnings ran through his head again: '_in Gotham, you never know when or where or how the Bat will show up. Best to keep things quiet than piss off the Bat..._'

He lunged and grabbed one of the younger girls nearest him, ignoring the protests of her family as he turned her and wrapped an arm around her throat, his gun shoved against her temple. "Come out, Bats! Or I start shooting! We know you're in here!"

"T-t. Taking hostages? Weakling." The voice came from behind him.

Carters whirled to point his gun where he'd heard the voice, the girl yelping against him. But instead of a man clad in black, he was faced with a boy in a colorful costume scowling at him with arms crossed.

"Did you believe you are frightening anyone, quivering like a scared child?" the boy said haughtily with a gesture towards Carters' trembling hand.

Relief came first when he saw it wasn't the Bat, but the boy's arrogant tone had him mustering up a bit of bravado. "You stay right there! Or I'll shoot!" He shouted, pretending that his shaking gun-hand was only brought about by the strain of holding the gun at full extension. The costumed _hero _wasn't moving anyway, and at this range he could hardly miss.

But something black _and sharp _suddenly slashed his wrist. He cried out at the pain and the gun fell clattering to the floor. "What in the-"

He followed the black thing to where it was embedded on the floor. It was a black bladed thing that had hit him, shaped like a-

"Batman!" shrieked the girl in his arm.

He jerked up at the sudden shadow that fell over him. Gotham's feared hero loomed over him with glowing white slitted eyes. "Carters. Let go of the girl." The vigilante rasped, gravelly voice grating against his ears.

How did the Bat know his name? But even as he was thinking that, Carters found himself curling his wrist to point the gun at the girl - then the stinging pain reminded him that he had dropped the gun and he was now unarmed. And he had two vigilantes right in front of him.

"Shit." He cursed, taking a step back. His men were silent and were probably already taken care of. He had no backup, and no gun. And he could think of only one way to get out of this scot-free. So he threw the girl at the Bat. Then he spun on his heel and ran for the exit.

The crowd parted for him. Any other day he'd be enjoying the feeling of being so important people didn't want to get close to him, but not tonight. Tonight he needed to be far, far away from the Bat.

He had just chucked his ski mask into some bushes outside the hall when something heavy dropped on his shoulders, slamming him to the ground. Pain exploded on his chin but he'd had experience in barroom brawls; so he twisted his legs, followed by his torso and swept out an arm to knock the weight off his back. The weight eased and- he paused. The weight was...lighter than he'd expected.

It was the sight of a sprawled Robin just three feet away that jolted him into action.

_Shit_. He scrambled to his feet. He was about to start running again when a black fist came flying out of nowhere and white stars burst in his eyes.

Batman and Robin drove back to the Manor in a heavy silence - or, as their civilian attire declared, Bruce Wayne and his son Damian drove back to the Manor with an air of tension between them like two sumo wrestlers readying for a clash. It was...a frequent happenstance of late.

"We need to talk Damian." Bruce called to the fourteen year old ahead of him when they reached the main foyer of the Manor. The night's take down of the armed thugs was successful and injury-free, a minor triumph that would be added to a decreasing number of incident-free reports in the Crays. Lately, it seemed as if the whole city was out to challenge the Dynamic Duo and it showed in the growing frequency of injuries.

But Damian stomped off in the direction of his bedroom, pretending he didn't hear his father's commanding voice that echoed in the empty foyer. Only for a short while, though..

As though he'd changed his mind, Damian whirled around and stomped back, coming to a halt in front of his father.

"Why did you intervene?" he demanded without any of the caution or respect Bruce had instilled in all the Robins except for this one. "I had everything under control!"

"There was a ballroom full of innocents, Damian. I wanted to be safe, rather than sorry."

"That isn't true! You just don't trust me!"

"Damian-"

"You're not being fair! I've tried to prove myself to you time and time again and for what?" Damian's voice - which the boy would later vehemently deny - cracked. "Richard trusts me! Why can't you?"

Bruce bit back a weary sigh and put his hand on the Boy Wonder's shoulder- only for the boy to jerk away from his touch as if burned.

"Damian, it's not that I don't trust you-" Bruce said, ignoring his youngest's disbelieving 't-t'. "-it's that I was preventing Carters from using his gun-"

"What? Did you not think I could handle it if he had reclaimed his weapon?" the boy asked haughtily, crossing his arms over his chest. An ugly scowl marred his face.

In a rare moment of tenderness, the Dark Knight cupped his son's cheek. "No," he replied. "Damian, you would've been the closest target, he could've easily shot you."

"It's not as if I've never been shot before, Father."

"I know," Bruce was well aware of that, and frankly the thought of any of his boys or Cassandra getting shot made his stomach turn. It was a given in their dangerous hobby that injuries would come but his worry never eased every time he heard any of them were hurt. "But son, you have to understand something. I _never _want to see you, or your brothers and sister hurt."

Damian pulled away with a sullen scowl. The anger from earlier had lessened, but was still present on his face. He only looked at his father for a moment longer with glassy blue eyes, (a trick of the light, he'd claim later), before muttering 'Whatever' under his breath and stalking off back towards the showers.

The billionaire finally released the sigh that had been building up and ran a hand through his dark hair.

"That boy is going to give me gray hairs." he grumbled, knowing that Alfred had appeared behind him. The butler was predictable in his showing up whenever he was needed, and sometimes even when he was unwanted.

"He certainly is spirited, Sir." Alfred observed drily.

"No matter what I do or say, it seems like I'm doing the wrong thing by him, Alfred." Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to fight the headache building between his eyes.

"He's at a difficult age, Master Bruce. He still has a child's mindset, yet he wants to be treated as an adult," the butler replied. "In fact, he reminds me of another thirteen year old boy who felt like he wasn't being given enough liberties."

Bruce shot the older man a look that was clearly unimpressed. "I wasn't that bad."

"Of course not, Sir," Alfred soothed but his eyes twinkled. "You were worse."


	2. Setting the Stage

Notes: Setting the stage now.

* * *

Dick Grayson burst into the kitchen the next morning, his blue eyes wide with panic. "Alfred! Have you seen Dusty's jacket?"

The old butler was unfazed by his charge's panic as he calmly checked the roast in the oven. His steady voice carried clearly through the large kitchen in answer, "Master Dustin's jacket is on the coat rack in the foyer, Master Dick, as is yours."

"Got it!" And the young man ran for the foyer, paused, and ran right back. "Thanks, Alfie!" He ran off again without waiting for a reply.

Moments later, packed children's snack in one hand and small jacket in the other, Dick waited by the stairs for his son to finish getting ready. It was Dusty's first day of school and both father and son were excited - well, the son was more excited and the father was more anxious as this also signifies the day when his son started staying out of the house without his family to supervise. This was the day when Dick would hand over his child to strangers and trust that they could protect him.

"Richard," Damian's voice took him out of his thoughts. "I would like to patrol with you tonight."

All thoughts of Dusty's school fled at the conviction in his youngest brother's voice. Dick kept an exasperated sigh to himself as he knew there was only one reason why Damian demanded to patrol with him.

"What did Bruce do now?"

His youngest brother glanced away, silent. Dick inwardly sighed in relief because the silent treatment meant things weren't _bad _bad, while stomping and yelling meant he needed a bottle of aspirin in his pocket.

Still without meeting his eyes, Damian said softly, "He doesn't trust me."

Dick let out the sigh this time, already feeling the frustration of an old argument between his adoptive father and his youngest brother. This wasn't the first time the fourteen year old had complained of Bruce's lack of faith and it won't be the last. He adopted a reassuring smile this time as he said, "Of course he trusts you. What on earth gave you that idea?"

"He intervened when I had the situation under control."

The smile turned into a laugh. Yes, the situation was still salvageable and he had the experience to prove it. "Damie, he does that to all of us. It's his way of being protective."

"T-t. You sound as if you enjoy it."

"Oh believe me, I don't. It's annoying as hell, but it's just how Bruce is."

"Overbearing?" Damian's nose scrunched up in disgust.

"Overprotective." Dick corrected. "Damie, you know he-"

"Morning, Uncle Damie!" a high-pitched squeal interrupted them as a tiny bundle suddenly dropped right on Damian. To the teen's credit, he staggered a few steps but did not fall on his rump nor did he drop the precious burden he suddenly found himself carrying.

"Daddy! Daddy! Did you see me?" The bundle turned bright blue eyes and a million-watt grin to Dick, expecting a proud response.

But Dick smiled and shook his head. "Sorry, kiddo. I was busy talking to your uncle." At the crestfallen look on his son's face though, he reached out and patted the little head. "But that means you'll have to do it again sometime and show me."

"Richard..." Damian growled as he gently but firmly pulled his nephew off him and set him down on the floor. "You are not to encourage your spawn's rowdy behavior. If Father hears of this..."

"Daddy? What's 'spawn' mean?"

"I'll tell you later, Dusty." Dick said quickly, aiming a warning glance at his youngest brother. "We need to get you to school."

"Yeah!" Dusty shouted excitedly. He squirmed out of his uncle's hold then took off for the front door with his father hot on his heels.

"Dusty! Wait! You can't go out without a coat!"

Before the boy could reach the front doors, a large figure swooped down and grabbed him. "And where do you think you're going?"

"Grampa!" The boy squealed, laughing when Bruce started tickling his sides. "G-grampa!"

"Grampa...what, you little scamp?" Bruce had a mischievous glint in his ice blue eyes as he kept up the tickling.

"Grampa Bruce!" Dusty finally gasped, slumping in the man's arms in exhaustion.

"Aw come on, Bruce," Dick complained as he neared. "I just got him properly dressed..."

"Dressed for what?" Bruce asked, patting the boy's back.

"School, Grampa!" Dusty cried in excitement, bouncing in Bruce's arms as he quickly regained his energy after the laughing fit. "I'm going to school!"

"At least _someone _is happy to enter the wretched place." Damian muttered softly enough that only Dick, who was closest to him, could hear. His older brother elbowed him in the side. "Ow!"

"It would appear that once again the old adage is true," Alfred's voice rang out in the foyer, bringing everyone's attention to him, "like father, like son."

Dick and Bruce exchanged glances as Dusty tugged on Bruce's lapels, "What does he mean, Grampa? I'm going to be like Daddy?"

"No, he means you're already like Daddy, kiddo," Dick laughed and took his son from Bruce, setting him down gently on the floor. "Now say goodbye to everyone or we'll be late for school."

"Bye!" And with that, Dusty tore out of the foyer, with his father hot on his heels once again.

"Dusty! Your coat!"

The high-pitched protest echoed through the still open Manor doors, "No late! No late for school!"

The drive to his son's school passed too quickly for Dick. He kept glancing time and time again at the excited bundle of energy beside him, and this morning's worries came crashing down on his head again.

For the first time, Dick was going to be separated from his kid. Well, it would only be for a few hours but...he was going to entrust his kid to strangers. Were these the right strangers? He had Tim and Bruce and Babs help him with the background check but...sometimes, small bits of information can still fall through the cracks. What if one of those small bits said that one teacher had a previous record for child molestation? What if it said that one of the staff was a pedophile?

And what if Dusty went through his first day without anything untoward happening? Was that too much to ask?

"Daddy!" His son's happy squeal snapped him out of his worries just in time for him to slow down the car and park by the school's entrance. "We're here! We're here!"

"We sure are," He forced a smile on his face as he unbuckled himself and climbed out. Dusty was still grinning from ear to ear when he went around the car to open the passenger door and pulled him out.

"School! School!" His boy flailed his arms and almost slapped Dick in the face with his excitement as Dick gently set him down.

He grabbed Dusty's shoulders before the boy could run off and leaned close, "Remember, Dusty," he slipped a tiny transmitter onto the boy's front pocket, "if something goes wrong; like if you get scared or the teacher is looking at you funny or your classmates are bullying you, you just press that little button and I'll come running, okay?"

Dusty nodded solemnly, taking his cue from his father's serious tone. "Yes, Daddy."

"Good. Now what do you do when someone makes you unhappy?"

"Press button!"

Dick smiled and ruffled his boy's neatly groomed hair. "That's my Dusty. Go on now, enjoy your first day of school."

Dusty gave another squeal and ran off for the school's front doors. Halfway there though, he paused and turned to look back, his eyes wide. Dick smiled and waved at him but a second later, he found himself with an armful of trembling, frightened boy.

"Hey, hey now," Dick murmured in Dusty's hair as he soothed the boy's back. "What's wrong?"

"No leave." Dusty whispered in a voice that was suddenly bereft of the joyful shrieks that morning. He buried his face deeper into his father's neck as his tiny fists clutched tight onto Dick's dress shirt. "Daddy no leave."

"Excuse me," a gentle voice called softly. Dick glanced up to find a young woman in a conservative pink blouse and modest skirt smile at him and Dusty. She tucked a strand of brown hair behind one ear as she bent to get closer to their crouched forms. "Hello, I'm Ms. Jeanine."

"Dick Grayson." Dick extended a hand out for the woman to shake. "And this is my son, Dustin."

"Hi Dustin," Ms. Jeanine smiled warmly at the little boy. "Are you ready to go to school?"

Dusty, his face still buried in Dick's neck, glanced at the pretty woman out of the corner of his eye and shook his head.

"Come on Dusty," Dick coaxed, "I thought you were excited for school?"

Dusty shook his head more vigorously than before, prompting Dick to turn a helpless look at the woman.

In response, the woman smiled wider and crouched, despite the pencil-skirt she was wearing. "It's alright, Dusty - may I call you Dusty?"

One watery blue eye looked at her with suspicion before slowly nodding.

"Well then, Dusty, I'm Ms. Jeanine. And I'll be one of your teachers for today." Her smile never wavered.

Dusty kept his suspicious look.

"Now, I'd like you to do me a favor, Dusty," she shifted her weight so she's not blocking the view of the schoolyard behind her. "Could you tell me what you see behind me?"

Dusty shyly lifted his head from Dick's neck and looked, his father similarly following his gaze to see a group of children - some as young as Dusty - playing and running while two adults watched over them.

"Other kids," The boy replied slowly, "Playin'."

Jeanine nodded. "That's right, Dusty. Other students playing." She smiled and extended her hand, palm up. "Would you like to join them? I'm sure some of them would like to meet you."

Dusty looked at her, at the kids behind her. His blue eyes had become wistful as he watched the other children play but his grip tightened on his father's shirt.

"Dusty?"

The young boy glanced at her again and turned to Dick. "...Can play?"

Dick brightened. "Sure you can! I bet you'll even make friends there, too!"

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Small lips pressed together in determination, Dusty gradually let go of his grip and Dick gently set him back on the ground. With cautious but sure steps, the boy started walking towards the schoolyard. Halfway there, he paused and glanced back.

"Don't wave goodbye." Jeanine whispered urgently in Dick's ear. "Encourage him to keep going instead."

Dick did as instructed, adding a bright grin as he made shoo-ing motions for Dusty. He squashed the urge to run in, grab Dusty, and race back home where he could keep his boy safe under lock and key.

But Dusty trotted on.

A little past halfway, he glanced back again. Dick was about to make encouraging gestures again when one of the playing children spotted his boy and rushed over. He watched with Jeanine as the two children talked briefly before the other kid ran off, and Dusty followed.

"Oh good, he's met Kevin," Jeanine murmured with a smile.

"Who's Kevin?" Dick asked, curious.

"One of our friendliest students. He loves meeting new people and he's our foremost helper in getting new students acclimated."

"I see." Dick inwardly winced at his next question, but he knew he had to ask, "Is he a troublemaker or a bad influence in any way?"

"Kevin?" Jeanine laughed a tinkling laugh that eased his worries. "The only bad influence that boy has is he sees everyone as a friend to be made! Why, he'd even come up to a grumpy parent once and asked if they could be friends." Then she winced at a remembered mishap. "The parent must have been in a bad mood at the time. She immediately told him off and dragged her child away."

"What happened next?"

Jeanine gave a small shrug. "She and her daughter never showed up again at this school. And little Kevin's been wary of approaching other parents ever since."

Dick winced, knowing what it felt like to have his little joys curbed. He'd stopped sliding down the banister and leaping up to grab the chandelier just a couple of years since he started living in the Manor. When Bruce and Alfred scolded him for doing 'a reckless stunt', he'd been afraid they were going to toss him back into Juvie. But Bruce had explained to him why they didn't want him doing stunts, along with a promise that Dick wasn't going to be sent back to that place. Years later though, he was still sliding down the banister when he could get away with it.

"I'd better go," Jeanine said, extending a hand for him to shake. "Dusty might have found a new friend, but he will still need to be reminded that his father will be back to pick him up later. Will you be the one doing the drop-off and pick-up regularly?"

Dick shook his head as he took the teacher's hand. "No, I'll be busy at work all day. But I have someone trusted to pick him up every day."

Jeanine nodded. "Alright then, I'll be seeing you in the morning Mr. Grayson. I'll also make sure to keep an extra eye on your son for you."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate it." He grinned at her. Already, he could feel this morning's anxieties fading away with her answering smile. Dusty is in school now, a school they had all picked through with a fine-toothed comb. Even if he couldn't trust his own research, he could trust Bruce's. Dusty is - _will be _safe.

But as he walked back to his car, an unexplainable and unshakeable cold feeling settled in his gut.


	3. Raising the Backdrop

Notes: More cuteness abounds!

Cryanth: Well, InvisibleBrunette and I hope you'll find the next couple of chapters to your liking then ;)

AJCrane: Glad to have you onboard. We'll be upping the drama a few chapters on hehehe.

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All throughout the day, Dick half-worried over Dusty. He'd tried to keep it discreet, but after re-reading the same page of Lucius' report on the latest Wayne Enterprises acquisition, he decided that he wasn't going to be finishing any work today. His back loosened with an audible crack when he twisted - a result of hours of bending over the rich mahogany desk and poring over several reports.

He pushed back the cushioned executive chair and raised his arms until his shoulders popped - well, as much popping as he could get with the constricting dress shirt. He'd had enough of Alfred's reprimands to not pop a seam.

"Phone call for you, Mr. Grayson," Mindy said, poking her head through the door. "It's your little brother."

Dick nodded and reached for the phone. Then paused halfway as he remembered he had two little brothers. "Uh, which one?"

"Damian, sir."

"Ah. Thanks, Mindy." He put the receiver to his ear, already feeling an ear-wide grin on his face. "Hey, Damie! What's up, babybird?"

"I refuse to attend this ridiculous charade of a social gathering!" came the heated answer.

Dick winced and opted for a calmer tone instead of his usual cheer, "Ease down, Damie. What social gathering?"

"Terri Wyndsor. Her birthday is next week and she has invited the entire class to attend her party. I refuse to go."

The eldest Wayne brother bit back the laugh that bubbled up in his throat. Damian was known to be indifferent to social gatherings at best, and completely against them at worst. But Dick had gotten used to dealing with his youngest brother's eccentricities since the year Bruce got lost in time. So he kept his calm tone and asked, "And why don't you want to go?"

A huff of frustration was clearly carried through the phone line. "Did you not hear me, Richard? _She _had invited the _entire class_."

"And what's wrong with that?"

"I do not care to mingle with shallow airheads concerned with the next movie star or singing idol!"

"You have school with those same kids every day." Dick pointed out.

"I do not care to mingle with them _extensively_."

"Ah," Dick nodded sagely to himself. Of course, he knew his youngest brother didn't want to spend time with those he felt inferior to him, but he also knew Damian wasn't one to call his big brother just to complain about it. There had to be something else that would prompt him to disturb Dick in the middle of the work day. "Is that the only reason?" he prodded.

There was a pause and Dick said a mental 'Aha!'

"No..." Damian said softly.

"You know you can tell me Damie, I won't laugh."

Another moment of hesitation before Damian relented. "I keep catching the Wyndsor girl staring at me when she thinks I'm not paying attention. I believe she's plotting something villainous." The fourteen year old admitted.

Dick couldn't stop the laugh this time so he pulled the phone away from him for the precious seconds it took to let out the laughing fit, seconds that had Damian calling and threatening to come right over and help fight whoever it was attacking Dick. "It's okay, Damie! I'm okay!" He said into the phone, a little breathless. "I...I just had to figure out what...never mind. Anyway! It sounds like Terri might have a crush on you, little bro."

"Grayson, do not treat this as a joking matter. I may have a potential enemy at school-"

"Damian." Dick interrupted the potential tantrum. His humour had faded when Damian called him by his last name. His little brother had only adapted to using his first name just a year ago and if Damian fell back to his old habits then it meant the boy was definitely upset. He quickly adapted a soothing voice, "Damie, I'm sure this is all harmless."

"And if you are wrong?"

"Then you don't have to attend your classmates' birthday parties - only if any party proves to have 'villainous plots.'" He added the last quickly. Damian had inherited his smarts from both sides of his genes and it definitely wouldn't do to have him find a loophole he could lord over Dick for any future social gatherings. The young teen needs to have more friends outside of the caped community - though if you ask his blood father, one friend is enough.

Damian sighed through the phone. "Alright. I will attend the party. But if something happens, I will blame no one but you."

There was an audible click, followed by a dial tone. Dick sighed and hung up. It was obvious his littlest brother inherited even Bruce's phone manners. He leaned back in his chair - his overly cushioned and ergonomic chair that probably cost a year of a cop's salary - and stared up at the white painted, soundproof ceiling with its environment-friendly light bulbs. He figures those probably cost a week's salary for a minimum wage worker.

In fact, the only things in his office that are actually reasonably priced are the picture frames on the bookshelf, each displaying a casual photo of the family in civvies. There was one with him, Bruce, and Tim in a party somewhere. Another with him and Damian after one of his baby brother's school plays (he had to admit, the scowl really fit well with his Roman soldier costume). And there was the one with him and the other original Titans as well as their kids. All neutral photos; there was nothing too personal or revealing about their 'other' activities.

It was that last picture that reminded him: it's been almost two years since the five of them had gotten together. The picture itself was outdated, having been taken the year before Dusty was brought into Dick's life. Now all five of the original Titans had children; _he _had been the last one to get a little spud of his own.

His friends' children were bigger now, and the Titans more mature. Both facts meant more responsibilities, more problems to sort out. It wasn't as if they hadn't kept in touch; Dick had seen his friends and nieces and nephews several times since that picture was taken, but no one had thought to do another group picture - usually because some crisis happened and someone had to rush out.

His gaze fell to the picture standing on the corner of his sleek desk. This picture was newer than the others, taken only a few months prior.

Dusty was beaming at the camera with Dick's old, very worn, and very much loved stuffed elephant in his left hand, and Tim's hand in his right - well, that was all you _could _see of Tim, besides his ripped blue jeans that Alfred had made disappear shortly after. But Dick was sure Tim had just as wide a grin as his son did.

His thoughts wandered back to the school he had dropped Dusty off that morning.

Was Dusty alright? He must be, because the emergency beacon was silent the whole day. But what if something so bad had happened that he couldn't reach the beacon? What if Dusty had been knocked unconscious? What if-

"Phone call for you, Mr. Grayson," Mindy poked her head through the door again. Dick had never had an intercom installed in his office, preferring to actually see his secretary when she talks to him. He found the intercom too impersonal. "It's from an Alfred?"

"I'll take it!" He practically jumped to pick up the handset again. "Alfred! Is something wrong? Did something happen? Where's Dusty? Is he-"

"He is perfectly alright, Master Dick," Alfred's cultured voice was calm and hinted at a bit of amusement. Dick found his worries slowly fading underneath the butler's calm voice. "In fact, I was just about to serve him lunch but I thought you might wish to know that we had returned home safely."

Dick let out his breath in a whoosh. "That's...that's good, Alfie. Thanks."

"Would you like to speak to Master Dustin?"

He brightened. "Sure! Put him on!"

There was a few seconds of silence then a very young voice came on the line. "Daddy?"

"Hey, kiddo," Dick greeted warmly.

"Daddy! I missed you."

"I missed you too, kiddo. So how was school?"

"It was fun!" The boy squealed. "First I played tag with Jimmy and Lucy and Mickey... then Ms. Sandra wanted us to colour pictures and I made mine black and blue for you, daddy! And then we played with big, squishy bricks and..."

Dick half-listened to the excited rundown of game after game, already feeling the tension easing from his shoulders. The morning's stress of worrying over his son had taken its toll, leaving him tired and more than ready to go home and hug his little boy. But he still had reports to do that Lucius was waiting for and it would take him hours to peruse all those numbers...

"Daddy?" the voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Still here, Dusty," he said, pulling his mind back to his son. He could think about the reports later.

"Will you bring me to school tomorrow?"

"Sure, I will. I-" A hitched breath over the phone had the words clogging in his throat. "Dusty?"

The response was slow, hesitant, and had a hint of tears. "Why, Daddy?"

Dick frowned at the sudden change in his son's mood. Just a second ago, he had been excited and now... "Why what? What's wrong, kiddo?"

"W-why do I h-have to go to s-school?"

Dick's frown deepened. "But Dusty, I thought you were having fun there."

"But I have fun with you too!" The last was spoken in a voice bordering a wail. And Dick knew just how bad the situation was about to become if he didn't fix this immediately. But first, he had to find out what set his son off.

"Dusty, why don't you like going to school?"

In the short silence before Dusty replied, Dick went through a plethora of half-formed theories - Dusty being bullied at school, Dusty intimidated by the teachers, the school itself being scary - but none of them had an inkling of the truth.

"You leave."

" 'I left'," Dick corrected automatically, then frantically rolled back the conversation when he realized what he'd just said. "Wait a minute! I didn't leave you! Dusty!" But it was no use. His voice was drowned out by the wailing that came through the phone. Dick could already feel his heart breaking over his son's sobs, could feel his eardrums cracking at the volume. "Dusty!"

"Master Dick," Alfred's calm voice eased his panic a little, "I'm afraid Master Dustin requires your 'personal touch.'"

"But I-" Dick glanced back at the stack of papers on his desk; the stack that he swears will keep growing the longer he's out of the office. Lucius had already told him he needed the reports soon so he could make informed decisions at next week's meeting. But this was his son! He couldn't put off his son's distress any more than he could blow off Bruce's rare requests for assistance.

Oh screw it. Dick will have to bring the papers home with him and work on them all night if he had to. For now, Dusty needed his Daddy.

The ride home felt like hours to Dick, but in reality, it had taken only ten minutes. He'd barely parked in the garage before he was rushing into the Manor, heading right for the sound of his child sobbing.

"Dusty!"

Reddened blue eyes blinked up at him and squealed, "Daddy!"

He strode right over to pick up his little boy, Dusty immediately burying his face into Dick's neck, and only with the uncomfortable feel of something gritty against his neck did he take stock of what the boy was doing: eating...cookies?

"I see the youngest master has quieted down," Alfred came in bearing a tray of freshly baked cookies.

Dick glanced down at his son, rubbing the boy's back as he tried to soothe Dusty's sniffling. "What happened, Alfred? Why is he...?" He paused in his rubbing to gesture at Dusty before returning to his comforting.

The old butler sighed and gently set the hot tray on the kitchen counter. "I'm afraid Master Dustin misunderstood your words. He feared that you were leaving him at school because you no longer wish to spend time with him."

"What? No, Dusty! That's not true!" He tightened his hold on Dusty before pulling his son just far enough away so he could look at the boy's bright blue eyes. "Of course, I still want to be with you! But you still have to go to school."

Puffy and reddened blue eyes stared up at him. "Why?"

"Because...because you need more friends." He replied, grabbing for the same reason he gave Damian that time he tried to foist the boy on the Titans. The scheme hadn't worked as well as he wanted, but it did gain Damian a bit of respect from other capes. Of course, that bit was so miniscule it was ridiculous but...Damian was Damian. Dick hoped his son could do better on that front. "Don't you want to have lots of friends?"

"I want Daddy!"

"Friends _and _Daddy." Dick corrected. "You won't always have to stick with just me or Uncle Damie or Grandpa Bruce."

Dusty sniffled. "Not 'lone?"

"Never alone, Master Dustin," Alfred spoke up, stepping close to wipe the crumbs off Dusty's face. "Why, in a few years you'll be attending birthday parties, sleepovers, camping..."

Dusty stopped sniffling, his eyes growing wide at the mention of parties and sleepovers. "With Daddy?"

Dick smiled, ruffling his boy's hair. "I'm sure you'll have fun even on your own, kiddo."

Dusty's forehead crinkled in thought then he nodded solemnly. "Okay."

"Now," Dick carefully set his boy down on the floor, "why don't you go and get your Legos set up so we can play?"

Dusty's eyes brightened immediately. "Okay!" And he scampered off to his room.

Dick and Alfred fondly watched the boy until he turned a corner and disappeared out of sight.

"A few years on, you would bemoan this event." Alfred remarked indifferently.

Dick glanced at him. "What makes you think that?"

"A few years on you would be worrying when Master Dustin is off at a sleepover in his friend's home, or gone for days camping." The butler shot an amused gaze at his second charge. "How did you think Master Bruce coped with you frequently staying with _your _friends?"

Dick winced as he imagined Dusty doing exactly those, then superimposed the images with memories of him asking, pleading, negotiating with Bruce over letting him hang out with the other Titans, with his school classmates. He was grateful Dusty wasn't at that age yet but in a few years' time...

"Guess parenting does come full circle, doesn't it?" He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.

"Indeed, Master Dick. Now, hurry up lest Master Dustin resume his crying fit when you are late to his playtime."


	4. Calling the Cast

Notes: The cuteness spreads.

Cryanth: Oh look! More cute! Hehehe

AJCrane and donahermurphy: Thanks for the ideas :) We might use them for future fics.

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Damian returned home from school expecting Pennyworth at some chore and his nephew at play or 'assisting' the butler- of course, his version of assistance is mostly done by helping Alfred sample the dishes, but no one was complaining. What Damian was not expecting however, was to see his nephew _and his eldest brother _rolling on the floor squealing in laughter.

"Richard," he demanded of his brother, "What are you doing."

The rolling duo quickly sat up at the sound of his voice. Richard's face was flushed with excitement as he sheepishly dusted both himself and his son. "Damian. I didn't know you're back."

Damian crossed his arms over his chest and gave him a pointed glare. "It is obvious you were too busy chortling to notice the front doors. Now _what _were you doing."

Father and son exchanged glances, and that made Damian narrow his eyes at the secret the two were implying. He didn't much like having secrets kept from him; and he liked it even less if it made two members of his family roll around like a pair of fools.

"Dusty and I were just..." Richard brought a hand up to rub at the back of his neck, waving his other hand to indicate the rest of the floor. It was then that Damian realized the two were surrounded by coloured plastic blocks of various shapes and sizes - though all of them had the same basic structure of a squarish geometric shape and an even number of flat round buttons on top. He frowned at the small plastic boxes for a moment before he recalled what they were.

"Legos?" he asked with an eyebrow raised.

Richard nodded enthusiastically as he reached down to pick up a pair of fist-sized blocks - on closer look, Damian recognized the fist-sized blocks were actually smaller ones attached together - and presented them to Damian with a flourish. "Look Damie, it's Batman and the Batmobile."

Damian's other eyebrow joined its partner up near his hairline. The clumped blocks were, of course, black but that was the closest resemblance the blocks had to the real Batmobile or the real Batman. No matter how many angles he studied the clumps, they still looked like pixelated lumps of black.

"Those do not look anything like the real thing." He stated.

To his surprise, Richard only threw back his head and _laughed_. Which prompted his son to laugh as well even though Damian knew his nephew barely understood what they were talking about or why they were laughing.

"No, Damie, they don't really look like the real thing." Richard answered breathlessly, wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes. "Neither Dusty nor I are spatial geniuses."

"Then why make the attempt?" Damian tossed the chunks a disgusted look.

"Because it's fun! Here," One of the chunks was tossed to him and he caught it neatly, "You take the Batmobile. Penguin's about to get away and Batman needs to attach rockets to the Batmobile to catch him. Ready, Dusty?" Richard turned to his son who was waving his arms in excitement.

"Catch Pengy, catch Pengy!" Dusty bounced from his seat on the floor.

Damian glanced down at the clump in his hand, at the scattered blocks on the floor and started to protest, "Richard, this is hardly-"

"Oh, you'll need these too," His brother tossed a pair of small black blocks to him. "Those are rocket boosters."

Damian shot him a suspicious glare. "And how are these supposed to be attached?"

"Just push the circles into the holes. Let your imagination do the rest." The instructions were given off-handedly as Richard grabbed a more colorful clump of blocks and regaled Dusty with how 'Robin' kept the Penguin from escaping. Dusty was, of course, delighted.

_Imagination, huh_? Damian felt a smirk forming on his lips. _Of course. Let Richard and Dustin be blown away by the imaginative genius of the Son of Batman._

Whatever it was that Dick had expected, it wasn't anything like this: Playtime with Dusty had turned from lighthearted fun and games into a novel in progress - well as much of a novel as could be said in an hour. Dick had invited his youngest brother to at least join in the fun, maybe even make him laugh a little. But Damie quickly took over the reins of playtime and told a complicated, gritty detailed story that Dick could almost swear came from their case files.

"Poison Ivy came closer to the trapped Batman." Damie said, holding a green and red clump of lego to the black and gray clump that was on the floor, buried under a small pile of green blocks. "She smiled and leaned close, ready to give Batman a kiss - from her lips that were full of the paralyzing toxins of the pitcher plant. One touch would cause the Batman's heart to go into cardiac arrest from the potency of the toxin."

Dusty's eyes were wide with horror, his full attention on Damian and the blocks. Not for the first time, Dick wondered if this idea of story-telling is good for his four-year-old or not. He didn't want his son traumatized so early in his life and by something as silly as playtime. But he didn't want to ruin the focus his son aimed at his youngest brother; he couldn't remember a half-hour of quiet in the four years he'd had Dusty.

"Then there was a crash overhead, showering both Batman and Poison Ivy with glass." Damian continued, but this time, he held a colorful clump of black, red, green, and yellow. He brought down the clump from high up, mimicking a figure dropping down with the help of a grapnel. "And Robin entered the greenhouse."

"Robin! Robin!" Dusty squealed, waving his arms up.

Damian smirked at Dick as if to say, 'See, your spawn knows that Robin's better than the Bat.' Dick refused to retort that it was only because Dusty knew who the first Robin was.

"Poison Ivy was angry," Damian said, then his voice rose in pitch to a near-perfect imitation of the villainess' sultry voice, " 'I almost had him!' she screeched, 'Get the Bird Boy!'"

Dick shook his head, telling himself that this definitely was not an average story time for a four-year-old - not when you have a master voice-imitator to tell the stories. But it made him proud of his son, that he could wrap a trained assassin around his little finger; and proud of Damian too, that this former assassin forewent his training to dote over his nephew. Alfred had teased Dick about it once - that the Grayson charm had once again prevailed against the Wayne stubbornness.

"Boom!" Dusty exclaimed, grabbing Dick's attention back as he tossed various colored blocks into the air.

"Dusty!" He flung himself over his son, letting his back take the brunt of the shower of Lego blocks. When the plastic toys settled, Dick slowly pulled back - and revealed a toddler shrieking in laughter.

"Boom!" the boy squealed again.

"Yes. Boom." Damian agreed dryly.

Dick glanced over to his youngest brother and had to press his wrist to his mouth to keep from laughing. The younger boy had no less than three Lego blocks in his short cropped hair and he was distinctly looking...unhappy.

"You will have to teach your spawn some restraint, Grayson." The current Robin said without any humor, delicately picking off the blocks in his hair.

Dusty though, immediately paused in his laughter to turn to Dick. "Daddy, what's 'spawn'-"

"Only when you're older!" Dick quickly stamped a hand over his son's mouth. "And Damian, watch your language."

"T-t."

Dusty's next words were muffled by Dick's hand so he pulled it away. "Daddy, why did Uncle Damie call me..." a yawn cut off the rest of the sentence, to Dick's gratitude.

"Looks like it's nap time for you," he grinned and picked up the boy.

"Not sleepy..."

"Uh huh." Dick replied, unconvinced. He took a moment to stroke his son's soft, black hair before striding to the little four year old's room. It was formerly Tim's room but Bruce had it renovated as soon as he settled back in Gotham and convinced Dick to return to the Manor. The room was the closest one to Dick's so they had moved Tim's things into another room. The walls were painted a robin's egg blue and white with tiny birds soaring here and there. There was a brightly colored desk to one side, a shelf filled with books to the other, and a medium-sized flat screen with its own array of DVDs standing across the queen-sized bed.

He, Bruce, and Alfred had consulted with two of the foremost interior decorators in Gotham - money is no object when it came to Bruce's grandson - and though Dick had frequently refused the more outrageous ideas of the decorators (a mini swing set _inside _a four-year old's room?), they'd all compromised on a simple design theme that was both lighthearted and stimulating. Alfred stayed away from the dark colors while Dick wanted a 'flying' theme. Bruce, of course, was meticulous in making sure everything was child-safe and child-friendly.

Dusty had no complaints.

_It must be the Batman and Robin themed bed sheets. _Dick thought to himself as he tucked in his son with the blanket full of Batman's and Robin's logos. He smirked as he remembered the smug grin Bruce wore for days whenever he saw Dusty's bed. Dick may have annoyed the Bat in the early days with his Superman-fanaticism, but Bruce was already making sure this kid grew up with a good taste in heroes. Damian's being the current Robin only helped Bruce in this endeavor.

"Mmm, Daddy...?" Sleepy blue eyes opened a fraction.

"I'm here, Dusty," Dick leaned down, brushing his son's hair back from his face.

"...love you..."

He smiled and planted a kiss on the boy's head. "Love you too, Dusty." Dick stayed for a few moments to make sure his son was deeply asleep before he silently left.

Damian was waiting for him as soon as he stepped outside the room.

"We did not finish our discussion this morning." The current Robin declared right before grabbing his sleeve and dragging him to Dick's room.

Once there, Damian quickly shut the door and turned the full force of his glare at Dick, arms folded.

"Okay Damie," the eldest Wayne brother said with a sigh. "What's going on now?"

"We did not finish our dis-" the teen repeated but was cut off with Dick's impatient gesture. He settled instead for glaring at the elder brother in silence.

Dick ran a hand through his hair and sighed again. "Okay. So you have a problem with Bruce and his being overprotective."

"Overbearing." Damian corrected.

"_Overprotective_." Dick stressed. "Look Damie, you can't expect Bruce to treat you like I did."

"Because I am not to be trusted?"

"Because he's Bruce! As much as he raised me, I'm not him and I can't _be _him."

"T-t." Damian clicked his tongue and lowered his arms. "Of course, I know that. It is obvious when you would rush home and abandon your work at Father's company."

Dick immediately protested. "I'll have you know I didn't just abandon my work. In fact, I brought the more important ones home with me." He triumphantly gestured towards the briefcase on the lone desk. He'd absentmindedly taken the time to set it aside just before going to play with Dusty, and was only now seeing it again - and the haphazard clutter he left on the desk as well. The briefcase he'd carelessly tossed had scattered the small pile of reports on the desk so not only was the surface covered in papers, but so was the surrounding floor.

Damian gave a criticizing look at the desk and told Dick, "You won't finish in time for patrol later."

"Of course I will! I-"

"What report did Fox want you to start on?"

Dick blinked at the sudden change of topic and answered, "PilotGen."

Damian nodded, striding over to the desk and began pulling out the stacks of paper Dick had hastily stuffed into the briefcase. "These are its financial statements?"

"For the past two years, yes." Dick followed to the desk in curiosity. He was half-holding out hope that Damian would help him with the report. Bruce had trained him to study financials for years but the lessons hadn't taken as much hold as the ones on judo or taekwondo. Numbers weren't as interesting as learning how to throw away a guy three times his weight.

"Have you calculated for the liquidity ratio?"

"No, I-" Dick paused, the words sinking into his brain. "No, it can't be that bad...can it?"

His youngest brother gave a quiet sigh and pointed to the statement of cash flows. "PilotGen had invested too much and earned too little. As things stand they have too much inventory that is needed to be liquidated before it can start earning once again."

"Wait. PilotGen's got some of the better tech in the market right now, and they use the same materials Waynetech uses. It's one reason why Lucius wanted to get it."

"True, but the company purchased too much. If we do not liquidate twenty percent of the current inventory, we will be facing a loss when these materials become outdated in three years."

Dick sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "It's that bad, huh? Maybe we can step up production of _our _tech?"

Damian snorted, "One year."

"I guess technology keeps moving too fast if it only takes a year to out date a new gadget." Dick said, shaking his head. He could still remember when he lived without a shower or water heater in the traveling circus. Heck, everyone he knew back then still kept a bit of change in their pockets when they needed to make a phone call.

But he knew what Damian was saying. Current sales of Waynetech products have been going steady on an average. If they keep making new gadgets without people buying them regularly, they'll end up with too much supply and drive the prices down; not to mention with how fast tech gizmos go out of style, that steady profit might well end up turning into a steady loss. And they would be back to the problem of having too much that they need to dispose of.

"You are not required to create any viable solutions to this problem," Damian's voice caught his attention. "Fox and the rest of his executive team are expected to do that. You should be grate-"

The slamming of the front door grabbed both their attentions. It took only a couple of minutes before Bruce came striding past Dick's room.

"Damian. Get to the Cave. Dick, follow if you're free."


	5. Setting the Mood

Notes: In which the plot must move forward.

Cryanth: Less cuteness starting from here on out... Well, there's a bit of silliness here but not much else. Hope you still enjoy :)

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"What's the problem?" Nightwing asked, leaning one elbow on the back of Bruce's chair in front of the Crays. He and Damian had followed Bruce down to the Cave as requested where the latter sent Damian on a training simulation while he talked to Dick alone. It earned him a furious glare from the teen but Damian did as he was told without complaint. That left Dick and his adoptive father virtually alone in the vicinity of the Crays with Dick trying to figure out what Bruce was up to.

But instead of answering, Batman brought up the profiles of two men on the monitor: Peter Harrison, and Justin Clarke. Dick glanced up and started reading, picking out the information on one profile that would catch Bruce's attention while comparing it to the other. It felt like he was ten again and Batman was training him how to glean information from text in the space of a few minutes.

Dick had passed that training with flying colors, of course - a desperate need to please the man who'd taken him in was enough encouragement. But it still didn't help him find what Bruce wanted him to see with the two men and almost nothing connecting them together outside of their incarceration in Blackgate.

One of the men was sent to prison for going on a rampage and killing at least two people, while the other was convicted for the premeditated murder of a well-connected local politician. Other than their relatively short rap-sheet - Blackgate inmates tend to have listed crimes that numbered more than ten - nothing stood out about them. They weren't even reported to have worked for any of the more notorious Gotham baddies like Two-Face or Joker.

"So you pointed out these two, why?"

"They had apparently snuck onto the boat that delivered supplies to the prison when it was on its way back to Gotham." Bruce replied without turning his eyes away from the screen.

The implications immediately alerted Dick. A couple of stowaways on a boat going from Blackgate to Gotham simply meant one thing: escaped felons.

Dick leaned closer to the monitors. "Have you figured out a ballpark of where they went yet? Former addresses? Favored hangouts? Family that might be willing to hide them?"

"Nothing worth noting and none of their former addresses show signs of recent activity." _Yet _came unspoken. Depending on how long before this news broke, there was still a chance either of the convicts were bound to return to their residences.

Dick nodded to himself and took a step back. He crossed his arms on his chest and asked casually, "Okay, so two killers break out of Blackgate. Neither of them was particularly _nasty _or insane, nor do their rap sheets go past the first page. Any reason why Batman should be concerned?"

"Harrison." The Dark Knight growled as he spun to face Dick. "He was one of your busts. And rumor has it, he's been muttering about taking down the 'rookie who tossed him in the slammer.'"

Dick inhaled the surprised gasp that threatened to come out. He wasn't a stranger to threats - growing up as the ward of and then to becoming the billionaire's sole heir had exposed him to more than his fair share of kidnap or death threats; then being Robin, Nightwing, and even being Batman had given him even more. This one just seemed like a mundane after-thought to some of the things he'd experienced. For example, Slade was still an uncertain factor out there, and there was the issue of Arkham's rotating doors and its inmates.

"We'll have to take precautions," Bruce continued without a thought to Dick's reaction. "But I'm more concerned with whether this is an isolated incident or there's a lapse in Blackgate's security..."

"What kind of precautions?" Dick asked, interrupting him, already dreading the level of 'precautions' his adoptive father had in mind.

And Bruce answered without pause, giving voice to those dreaded thoughts Dick was having. "No going out unsupervised. Check-ins every hour unless you're in a secured building. Stay away from windows and open spaces. Wear Kevlar every time you leave the Manor."

Dick rolled his eyes and sighed. Bruce's proclamation was exactly the kind of safety measures he hated when he was a kid - and he hated them even more now that he was an adult. He understood that it was part and parcel of being adopted by the paranoid Bat, but he'd never liked it once over the years. "Bruce. I'm not nine anymore, remember? You can't pull the overprotective dad with me like you do with Damian."

Sharp blue eyes pierced him with an unforgiving stare. "You're my son as much as he is. It's my job to protect my sons."

Dick kept the eye-roll to himself. "And as your adult son, it's my job to tell you that you're overreacting."

"I don't overreact." Bruce said flatly.

That drew an amused chuckle from Dick. "Oh yes, you so do."

The World's Greatest Detective's eyes narrowed minutely as he put two and two together and came up with four. "You've been speaking with Damian."

"Yes," Dick nodded and explained, "He feels like you don't trust him."

"Of course I trust him. He-"

"-Wouldn't be Robin if you didn't. Yeah, I know." Dick finished for him then let the smile fall from his face as he said grimly, "Seriously Bruce, you need to let go once in a while. You can't expect me - or Damian for that matter - to lock ourselves up to be safe. We're not fools and we _will _take precautions, but you've got to let us think for ourselves too."

Bruce made a noncommittal grunt.

Dick sighed again. "Bruce..."

"You're still checking in regularly." Batman cut in, his tone not even leaving it as a question.

And Dick's smile returned. "Of course Bruce," he said, giving in. He might not have made Bruce change his mind about being overprotective, but he knew for certain that his father wouldn't keep him from doing as he liked. Bruce was a man who needed a lot of control in his life. And while it wasn't necessarily a bad thing in the life of a superhero, Dick had to constantly remind him that he can't hold the reins to everything...And that not everyone appreciates being told what to do.

But Dick also knew that Bruce was only looking out for him, and for Damian. The teen might not appreciate this (he was beginning to set foot in that teenage rebellious phase), but there were some situations and decisions best left to adults. The kid could act as mature as he liked but the bottom-line was, he's still a teen and he still had puberty to contend with.

And since Damian was fourteen going on forty, that would prove to be more difficult than it would be for any other kid, normal or not. Nightwing shook his head as he realized: that was going to be another chat for another time - a hopefully far, far in the future time.

"We'll need to check on Blackgate's security." Batman stated, turning back to the monitors and pulling up three-dimensional blueprints of the penitentiary on the screen. "Robin and I will pay the Warden a visit tonight."

"I could go undercover," Nightwing suggested, "I'm sure Bullock would be happy to throw another punk in there-"

"Out of the question." Batman fairly snarled, cutting off whatever Dick wanted to say. "You and Red Robin are to track the escaped convicts."

Dick gave him a look. Did they not just have a talk about trust? Then why is Bruce sending Dick to track felons instead of backing him up at Blackgate where they'll be surrounded by hundreds of hardened criminals? It wasn't that long ago when Dick had to do some clean up in Blackgate because its Warden was corrupt and now had Bruce forgotten about that?

He shook his head ruefully. Maybe he just imagined their whole conversation. "Are you sure you're sending me out after them because they might kill someone or just to make sure I'm as far away from the action of facing hundreds of dangerous criminals as possible?"

"I'm sending you out because you have previous experience with one of them. You may have a better chance of finding them along with Tim."

"All this while you and Damian lean on the Warden."

"The Warden has a solid reputation and has so far proven to be trustworthy. No, Robin and I will just be having a discussion."

Dick deflated and decided to give in. He had to take his victories where he could. But on the other hand, he had to make sure Bruce didn't foible his relationship with his son this time. So he shrugged and asked in an off-hand manner, "Whatever you say Big Guy; but is Robin going to be a part of the 'discussion', or is he going to have to wait outside?"

Bruce turned his chair to face him. "He'll be-" the billionaire paused as he caught Dick's expectant gaze then exhaled loudly. "He'll be with me."

The smile on Dick's face turned sunny. "That's great! You're learning." He turned around so he didn't have to see the Bat-glare aimed at him. "Well, I'll be going now. And don't worry, if either Tim or I get in over our heads we'll-"

"Keep calm and call Batman."

Dick froze. He slowly turned back to his father and stared at him as though Batman had grown three heads. Bruce didn't just... "Have you been monitoring my browsing history?"

His adoptive father's silence was answer enough.

"You have! Bruce, I know you're overprotective as heck, but this...this is stalking, you know! I bet you don't even do this to Tim!"

Batman pushed his chair back and stood. "Tim already knows."

"What? What! Bruce!"

But Batman was already past him and on his way to the Batmobile. Dick however, didn't miss the slight smirk on his adoptive father's face and he realized Bruce was just toying with him. Wasn't he?

The answer still hadn't shown itself when Nightwing and Red Robin went on patrol that night.

"I knew," Tim admitted when Dick told him about Bruce's latest shenanigan. "It's what I expected him to do."

"What?" Dick nearly lost his footing on the roof's edge. He had been balancing on his toes when Tim casually tossed him his reply. "You mean, you know he's stalking and you're okay with it?"

Tim shrugged. "It's not really stalking. He's just monitoring for things he should be concerned about."

"Like what things?"

"Anorexia how-to sites. Pirate sites. _Porn._"

Dick sputtered at the last, waving his hands in frustration. "Tim, I'm _twenty-eight_. I've got a four year old kid. I'm old enough and mature enough to know to be discreet about those."

"And you still got saddled with said four year old."

"Tim! Now, that's just-" Dick paused, narrowing his eyes at the slight upturned quirk on his younger brother's mouth. "You're pulling my leg, aren't you."

The little smile turned into a full-blown smirk. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

Dick huffed and threw his hands in the air again. "You and Bruce... I swear he doesn't know how much of a bad influence he can be..."

"No more than you can be," Tim pointed out still with the same smirk. "You're the one who taught him to crack jokes. At least he didn't start with the bad puns."

"Hey, there were some _good _puns too," Dick sighed, running a hand through his hair. While it wasn't strange to have either Tim or Bruce play jokes on him, it happened infrequently enough Dick usually couldn't distinguish when they were joking or when they were serious. That is, until he spotted the beginnings of a small smile on either of the two.

"I've got Clarke," Tim said softly, coming on the alert as he pointed out a man just leaving the convenience store. "Looks like he just bought himself some supplies."

Nightwing followed his gaze and hummed to himself as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, if you just broke out of prison, what are the chances that you've got money to spend on the same day?"

"Maybe he got a hidden stash somewhere." Red Robin suggested.

"Or maybe he's got a five-finger discount."

"He just takes what he wants?" Tim replied with a grin. But the grin quickly faded as he said, "He really isn't stalking, you know."

Dick snorted, knowing which 'he' Tim was referring to. "Then what do you call what he's doing? He's-"

"-making sure he can back you up at a moment's notice."

Nightwing's head jerked around to stare at him. "What?"

Tim sighed and explained, "Ever since you branched out - stopped being Robin, I mean - you haven't been...as open to sharing your missions with him. Oh, it's a lot better now," he said quickly at the look of protest on Dick's face, "but still, you don't tell him every one of your missions. He had to sneak his way into your computer to find out what you were up to."

"Hey, I can take care of myself!"

"He _knows_ that, Dick," Tim shook his head. "This just gives him a sense of control."

_Or, _the thought came unbidden into Dick's mind; _it gives him the sense that he's still needed._

And just like that, now he knows why Bruce has been so overprotective.

Bruce had been the sole protector of Gotham for so long; he probably wouldn't know what to do with himself if he was forced to retire. Always there'd been a new problem to solve, a villain to fight, a challenge to overcome. Year after year, he and the rest of the 'Batclan' barely held Gotham from tearing itself apart. But year after year, the children he'd raised - _trained_ - grew up to take challenges of their own...to leave the nest. And Bruce was left with nothing but to trust that he'd trained them well and that they no longer needed him as much as they did. And how many of those children had left without looking back?

In his turn, Dick hoped Dusty'd still come back home when the time came for him to leave.

Or that Dick would be able to let his son go.

"So," Tim's voice jolted him back to their current mission, "do we follow Clarke?"

Nightwing nodded shelving this new revelation in the back of his mind. "Hopefully he'll bring us back to the other guy and we can pack them all up to Blackgate."


	6. Moving the Plot Forward

Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting this. I had a bit of a computer trouble.

AJCrane: I'd love to get more of your opinion as the story progresses :)

Cryanth: And that was probably the last moment of humor for this fic, until maybe the end chapters. I can't recall lol.

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The next morning dawned bright and way-too-early for Dick. They'd lost Clarke last night when he melted into a night crowd of commuters; the night had been too early for Gotham's criminal element to show themselves so most of the commuters were hurrying home. What was one more person quickly making his way back to his hideout?

Nightwing and Red Robin had grudgingly slunk back to the Manor when they failed to spot Clarke again. After a short debriefing with Batman, both Dick and Tim went back to their rooms to sleep since Dick had to get up early in the morning to drive his son to school.

He slowly let the car roll to a stop by Dusty's school. He unbuckled himself and jumped out to do the same for Dusty. The school was as noisy and chaotic as the first day, only there were fewer teachers to soothe anxious parents or children. He guessed now that most of the kids were getting used to the school routine, some of the teachers weren't needed to pacify wailing children and were probably busy preparing their lessons for the day.

He didn't see Ms. Jeanine anywhere. But that wasn't a concern; she could have just been late, or busy with the lesson plans. Still, Dick would have liked to chat with a friendly face while he watched his son run for the school gates.

A flash of memory hit him - of when he was very young and similarly running for the school gates on the second or third day of formal school. He too, had refused to leave Bruce's side during that first day. It was a shock for a kid who was used to lessons with the clowns, the knife-thrower, or his mom. Those before-practice lessons were still fresh in his mind as he slowly stepped on the pavement; he could hear the shrieks of laughter and he could almost believe that it was the other circus kids playing before lesson time - but the smooth pavement could never replace the untamed field grounds the circus had stood on.

Bruce was sympathetic but adamant that he attend formal school. And that first day, no matter how Bruce threatened or cajoled, Dick kept his tight grip on the man's trousers. He'd been afraid that once Bruce left, he'd never show up again after school. Dick didn't want to be left alone again.

Dusty though, no longer had any hesitation after that first day. He had met up with his playmates from the other day and they were now running for the school doors. In just a few minutes, his son had disappeared into the building to be followed by the rest of the children in the schoolyard. And there was no sign of Dusty being scared of school anymore.

Dick sighed, turning to make his way back to the car. He'd parked as near as he could to the school building but, with all the other students and their parents, the parking lot was full and he had to take the space that had just been vacated by another car.

He walked past an idling car and wondered about it, glancing through its tinted windows for a peek at its occupants. But the lone occupant was simply leaning on the steering wheel, eyes riveted on the school. Dick guessed that whoever it was, was simply waiting for someone to come back from the school; maybe a parent who was dropping off their kid.

He gave an inward shrug and continued to his car - and to his work.

Lucius eased his fears that morning, when the COO agreed with Damian that 'it wasn't part of Dick's job to solve this problem.'

"Despite what you might think," Lucius told him with a chuckle, "Bruce has actually been honest about his assessment of you. He warned me years ago that you don't exactly have a good head for the cutthroat corporate business and that your talent lies somewhere else."

Dick's shoulders slumped both in relief and disappointment. Even years later, he was still looking for Bruce's proud smile to be bestowed on him and knowing that he didn't measure up to his adoptive father's expectations had his chest feeling heavy. "I-I see."

The chuckle turned into an outright laugh as Lucius clapped him on the shoulder. "He's proud of you, you know - even if you're not a natural at running an international corporation. All the times he's told me how you're hopeless at seeing the big picture from financial statements alone, he's told me one of your jokes. It makes me happy to see his smiles reach his eyes every time he brags about you."

Heat rose in Dick's cheeks and he ducked his head. "Bruce doesn't brag."

"Oh yes, he does. He just makes sure none of you kids know about it."

Dick glanced up and gave a sly smile. "But you told me."

Lucius grinned back. "Of course I did. You've got a kid of your own. You're due." Lucius laughed again and the hand on Dick's shoulder patted him in a fatherly gesture. "I know I haven't told you this but: welcome to parenthood, Dick."

"Thanks, but I've had Dusty for a couple of years now."

"And you'll still feel like everything's new," Lucius's chuckle turned wistful. "It's always like that with your first."

"That bad?" Dick probed. He wasn't really one to gossip about kids but...having advice from fathers who'd gone through the early years doesn't hurt. And when was Lucius ever going to be as candid as he was now?

"Oh..." Lucius hesitated but gave in after a second, "there were some good days, and there were bad ones. Still," the grin blossomed again, "it's all worth it."

Dick found himself echoing the COO's grin, thinking of all the things that happened just the first week of Dusty coming to live with him: Damian's fascination with his new nephew, Dick's better relations with Tim and Babs - well, the latter one he still had a few hurdles to go over. He truly hadn't expected that he'd have a child, nor did he expect to have one with Cheyenne Freemont either. But Chey had gotten pregnant, kept Dusty for four months and only told Dick about him when an old suitor decided to come calling again.

And then, Dick had barely gotten used to the idea that he had a son when Chey was killed. Things...had gone a little hectic after that.

It didn't help that Bruce had been saddled with this same problem when Damian came along - only Dusty was still a baby when he came into Dick's life and Damian had a few years under his belt.

"So how was Dusty's first day of school?" Lucius' voice brought him out of his reminiscing.

"Oh," Dick gave a sheepish laugh, "he didn't want me to leave."

Lucius nodded in understanding. "It'll be like that the first time he has a sleepover. He's used to having you around so he isn't sure what to do if you weren't. Have you tried going out on a trip with him?"

Dick's mind froze on that one word. _A trip?_He blinked and stared at Lucius as though the COO was speaking an alien language.

"It's something I wish _I _could have done," Lucius shrugged, oblivious to his companion's stunned silence. "Take some time off to talk with your kids without getting interrupted. Bring out whatever issues you both have."

Somehow, Dick managed to snatch a few words from the whirlwind in his head. "You mean, like a vacation?"

"Or a day off. Wayne Enterprises can still function a few days without you," the COO's glasses glinted, "or Bruce."

And there it was; it was exactly what Bruce and Damian needed. Time to talk, with no villainous threats, patrols, or other interruptions; just for the two of them to be together and maybe come to an understanding.

"That's a wonderful idea, Lucius!" Dick grinned at the COO while his mind raced with the possibilities: a picnic? Nah, too boring. Bruce would still insist on bringing his phone and laptop to keep track of business while Damian would hide himself in his iPod or his Nintendo. A fishing trip? Same problems, and Bruce would still find a way to boost his cellphone signal to keep in touch with Wayne Enterprises and maybe even the JLA.

Lucius was still speaking, but Dick paid half a mind to what was being said. He absently watched the COO walk halfway to the door, saying something about more reports to look over. Alfred-instilled courtesy had Dick giving the customary 'see you later' as he turned back to his desk. He almost missed the knowing glint in the older man's eyes before the door swung shut.

Then Dick turned his full attention into trying to come up with vacation options for Bruce and Damian. Father and son needed time to air out their grievances, _badly. _And they couldn't do that while being on-call for the next Arkham breakout. Maybe that old cabin in the woods?

"Mister Grayson?" Mindy startled Dick from his internal ramblings. "A Mister Pennyworth is on the line for you. He said it was urgent."

"Oh, thanks Mindy, I've got it."

Dick had barely gotten the receiver to his ear before Alfred's frantic voice broke whatever half-formed plans were in his head.

"Master Dustin is missing!"


	7. Tossing in Conflict

Notes: The cliffies start.

Notes2: Not feeling very well. Messages to reviews will be in the next chapter. Sorry.

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The schoolyard was still swarming with cops and fire-fighters by the time Dick arrived. He spotted Alfred talking to a handful of officers and quickly ran over. "Alfred!"

"Master Dick! Good heavens," the butler's eyes were wide with fear and worry. Dick started to reach out to him but was interrupted by two of the officers jogging towards him.

"Mr. Grayson!" The mud-brown hair was familiar, as well as the dark eyes and soft-edged chiseled face that greeted him.

"Det. Radley," Dick said, recognizing the detective who handled Cheyenne's case when she was murdered by Pierce. The detective had been a big help to Dick back then with his advice on parenthood. Not only had the detective gone through the same situation as Dick - he'd similarly found out he had a kid long after said kid was born - but he'd also been candid with Dick whenever they talked. Most police officers were intimidated whenever they had to talk with anyone in the Wayne family, but not Det. Radley. That alone told Dick this particular cop was either trustworthy or corrupt - and he'd bet on the former.

And for today, Dick hoped the detective would still be as candid as he was back then. He didn't need to antagonize the cops if he wanted to get Dusty back real soon. "What happened? Alfred said my son's missing?"

The detective winced and was interrupted by his blond-haired partner, Sanders. The other detective was blunt and seldom kept his negative opinions to himself. His attitude had often rubbed people raw, but Dick knew the detective was a good guy. Sanders merely hid his concern behind a wall of brusqueness. "It was a fire alarm," he explained with a hint of disgust, "Someone pulled the school's fire alarm so everyone would evacuate the building. In the mess of keeping a lot of kids in line, it was discovered that one child wasn't accounted for."

"Dusty," Dick answered, trying to keep his voice steady. The entire drive here, the phone call; it was like one of Batman's cases where the distraught parents asked for any help they could get, offered any reward they had, and Batman combed through the fine details to find that one clue, that one mastermind who was heartless enough to separate a child from his parents.

But now, that parent was him. And the child _was his_. And his mind warred with itself on questions he had no answer to, starting with: what happened to Dusty? Was he alright? Why didn't he activate the emergency beacon?

"Mr. Grayson?" Det. Radley's deep voice cut through the haze in Dick's mind. The detective had been patting his shoulder to get his attention. "You alright? You were...weren't breathing right."

He blinked, found himself short of breath. Dick took a deep inhale and let it out slowly, forcing his racing heart to calm. "Right, right," He shook his head to clear it of his fear. The police will help him, and so will Bruce. There was no need to panic yet. "Sorry."

"We'll do everything we can, Mr. Grayson. We'll find Dusty."

"Detectives!" The call came from a uniformed officer jogging towards them. Radley and Sanders quickly stepped close to the officer, leaving Dick alone with Alfred.

"I agree with the detective," the butler's hand was gentle on his shoulder, as was the encouraging smile, "_we will _find Master Dustin. Have no fear."

Dick tried to give an answering smile, but the cold fear refused to go and now felt heavy in his stomach. He couldn't, for the life of him, bring his mouth to form a smile so it came out strained. His son was missing in the chaos of the schoolyard. Could he be hiding? But Dusty had promised to press the emergency beacon if something happened...

Radley's shouted expletive grabbed his attention.

The detectives were still in a circle far from Dick's earshot, their postures rigid and their hands waving in angry strokes. Dick couldn't hear what they were agitated about...but he'd been trained from a young age on how to read lips.

"...not gonna like this," Sanders was muttering while shaking his head.

Radley rubbed at his temples before raising his head to face the other two. "The grandson of one of the richest men in the city was missing and now kidnapped." Dick could swear his heart stopped beating for a moment but he continued watching the three cops discuss. "I've never liked this from the start. Send the tape to Ben. See if he can find out more from the footage."

"I've already asked the teachers," the unnamed officer said, "they all agree no one was supposed to be there during morning classes."

"That's why there's a lock," Sanders grumbled, "How'd he get into the gym?"

"Forensics is working on that now."

Radley was rubbing his temples again. "Any chance we could put a rush on those results when forensics is done?"

"Any chance we could send someone to tell the worried parent what happened to his kid?" Sanders tilted his head towards Dick, bringing Radley's attention to him.

The dark-haired detective's shoulders slumped and he started walking back to Dick. Dick quickly schooled his features back into distraught; it took all his skills in meditation to shove away any anger he felt at the news of his son's kidnapping away. He didn't want to give away that he'd been 'listening in' to the cops' conversation.

"I'm afraid I've got some bad news, Mr. Grayson," Det. Radley said when he was close enough. "We have reason to believe Dusty's been kidnapped."

Dick didn't have to fake the tremble in his hand when he brushed his hair back. "Any...any suspects?" He pried, mentally promising that whoever took Dusty will find himself with two angry Bats on his tail. Well, one Bat and one bird.

"Not at this moment," Radley admitted, "Any information you could give on who might want to kidnap your son would be appreciated..."

The detective trailed off at Dick's reluctant laugh. "I think the better question is," he told the detective with a weak grin that he didn't feel, "is which thug _doesn't_ want to kidnap one of the heirs to the Wayne fortune?"

"Forensic results on the gym door." Bruce demanded without turning away from the monitor.

"No sign of forced entry," Tim replied, his attention on a similar monitor beside Bruce's. "There were minute signs of a key being used very recently, even though the gymnasium wasn't scheduled for use until the afternoon."

"None of the servants were in the vicinity." Damian reported with a heated punch at a practice dummy. His small fist easily tore a hole in the dummy's side.

Any other day, Dick would consider the scene in front of him an impossible miracle; Tim was more often than not working solo cases out of Gotham, Bruce would be mostly silent as he kept his information on a 'need to know' basis, and Damian would always find an insult that would rain arguments in the Cave. But with Dusty's plight, the family had come together to help Dick get his son back. It was...a heart-warming sight at the least.

"The janitors and groundskeepers were all either in their break room or at the other end of the school." Damian reported with another left hook to the dummy's head. "None of them would be running past the gym on their way to the exits when the alarm sounded."

"Keys?" Bruce prompted.

"All accounted for and in possession of the respective authorized figures."

"Did one of them leave their key without supervision for a period of time?" Dick asked, knowing how a moment's worth of negligence could lead to catastrophe. He, as well as the other Bats, had had experience in filching small objects from an unwary target.

"None," Damian answered as he swiped a hand across his forehead. "They all claimed to have the keys with them at all times."

Tim's head jerked up from the monitor. "The principal didn't. He left his key ring in his office when he did his rounds of the classrooms."

"Could someone have gone in and stolen it?" Dick ventured.

But Bruce shook his head as he explained, "The secretary would have noticed someone entering the principal's office."

"But the office door isn't the only entrance there." Meaning, it was possible for someone to sneak in through the principal's window and 'borrow' his set of keys. Whoever did it though, should have left shoe prints, clothing fibers, a broken window latch to prove that the principal's keys were used. A minor piece of evidence like that could go a long way into finding out who took Dusty.

"I can check the principal's office later-" Tim offered but was suddenly cut off by Bruce.

"No. The principal isn't part of this." The eldest Wayne steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them as he perused the information on the monitors. "There's something we're missing."

"There's a lot we're missing!" Dick burst out, flinging his hands in the air. Hours had passed and they still had no clue, no leads, not even a single shred of evidence to point at who had his son. Dusty must be scared by now...or worse. And they were all stuck here in the Batcave, pulling at straws just to find the next clue. "We can't even agree on a motive!"

Bruce grunted. "But we can agree that we might have inside help on this case."

By the tone on Bruce's voice, Dick knew he wasn't referring to the kind of help the Batclan can offer. "What do you mean?"

"This was a minor notation on the forensic report," the eldest Wayne typed several commands into the Crays to bring up a new window, one that held a picture of the school's gym wall - with a blackened spot on it as though the wall had been blasted. "Energy discharge. Very recent."

And Dick knew where that came from. "Dusty."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "It's possible his ability manifests during periods of high emotion. If this is the case, then whoever kidnapped him must have sedated him before transport."

"And that's why Dusty couldn't press the emergency beacon." Dick frowned as an idea occured to him. "Bring up the layout of the school again."

Tim complied, sending the large picture to the main screen. "What are you looking for?"

"According to the CCTV, someone had to be hiding in the gymnasium to nab Dusty when the students ran past," he stepped close to the Crays, circling the area he mentioned with a finger, "then someone had to pull the fire alarm," he moved his finger to point at a spot by the end of the hall where both alarm and fire extinguisher were located. "That makes two people involved."

"Three," Damian spoke up, coming closer to the others with his fists at his sides, "Someone had to drive their vehicle and act as lookout."

Tim nodded. "It's a textbook kidnapping, but they're being smart about it. They knew where to park to keep from being seen by the cameras or the students," he pointed out a small area on the screen that held the blueprint of the school, "where the fire alarm is, and which way the kids would be going when the alarm is pulled. One of them must be familiar with the school."

"Wait," Dick tapped the area that Tim indicated, "I remember seeing a car sitting idle when I dropped off Dusty this morning. Red Honda Civic. Windows were tinted so I couldn't see inside to make the driver's features."

"License plate?" Tim asked; already back at his monitor to research on the plate number. Dick gave the short series of letters and numbers and waited as his younger brother typed it in. "No good. It was reported stolen just this afternoon."

"So they stole a car just to drive to the school and kidnap Dusty?" Dick thought on the implications the small bit of data gave him. "So they probably thought their car would be traced to them if someone noticed the idle parking, or they don't own a car in the first place."

"But they have access to the school's keys," Bruce added, typing more commands into the Crays. "We need to check the school's former employees."

"Without cross-referencing, we'll be stuck with several names to check out." Tim pointed out.

"If detective work was easy, everyone would be doing it." Came the rejoinder.

Dick gave his adoptive father a look, drawing Tim's attention to it.

"What is it?" His younger brother asked.

"Nothing," he replied, not breaking his gaze away from his father. Bruce wasn't normally one to crack a joke so whenever he did; it was always a moment worthy of pause. But Dick wasn't sure now was a moment worthy of even a joke, not when his son was kidnapped. Here he was, worrying and fretting over his son and Bruce was making jokes...

The brief spark of frustrated anger in him puffed into a wisp of smoke as he realized, his adoptive father was simply turning the tables on him. Dick had always been the one to make jokes and keep Bruce from falling into despair. And now Bruce was doing that _for him_. Dick would be laughing right now if Dusty wasn't missing.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the Crays. A quick check revealed it was Gordon asking for the Bat's presence.

"Nightwing," Batman ordered, pulling up his cowl as he stood back from the Crays, "stay here. Robin, Red Robin, with me."


	8. Ramping Up the Conflict

Notes: In which someone is breaking down and someone is building back up.

Konri Kari: Glad to have you onboard! :)

Amira Wayne: He'll be fine. Me and InvisibleBrunette are too nice to hurt any of them bad ^^

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"What!" Dick immediately protested, following after the three of them as they headed for the vehicles. "What do you mean 'stay'? I'm going with you!"

Bruce's eyes were narrowed as he turned to face him. "No. You're not. You are too emotionally unstable to be of use to us right now."

"Emotionally unstable?" The eldest Wayne son bristled at the comment, feeling his face flush with indignation. "Of course I am! That's my _son_ that's missing! I can't even fathom how you're so freaking calm when it's _my son _and _your grandson_! It's like you-"

A hand on his back brought Dick out of his rant. He glared over his shoulder at Damian, daring him to say anything.

"Richard, he's right." the fourteen year old said calmly. "You are not in the right frame of mind, and you could very well make a wrong move that would likely get all of us killed. Dustin needs his family together."

Dick blinked at his little brother and gave a defeated sigh, his anger losing its steam. Damian was right, and if anyone else was in the same position he was, he'd probably tell them the exact same thing. Shame was a bitter fruit to eat when your youngest brother spouted your own advice right back at you. "You're right," he admitted, shoulders slumping. "I'm sorry, Bruce."

Bruce's stare spoke volumes about his surprise and Dick couldn't blame him. Damian, his littlest brother, rarely spoke one sentence without insulting someone and that he would take the initiative to bring comfort? Never. Nearly five years of living with Dick and Bruce had done wonders to curb the little assassin child though, as this incident proved.

"We'll get him back, Dick." Tim spoke into the silence, his blue eyes holding promise. "Whoever did this will regret the day he decided to mess with the Waynes."

Damian nodded in agreement. "Dustin is my nephew," he said, as if that explained everything. Then he turned his sharp gaze to his father. "I shall stay here. I have homework to complete."

Bruce directed his gaze to his youngest. If he was surprised by Damian's announcement, he hid it well. "Are you sure, Robin?"

"Yes."

Dick, standing in between father and son as he was, could only glance back and forth as the two exchanged some secret discussion using Bat-stare numbers 2,644 and 754. Whatever the discussion was about, he didn't know but it was definitely about him and he didn't like that. It was like he was ten again and in the Watchtower for the first time with the Justice League talking over his head.

But he knew exactly the reason why Damian wanted to stay behind, and it was because he had homework to complete - the teen had already finished them before everyone met up in the Cave.

Gently, Dick steered his youngest brother out of earshot. "Damie, you don't have to stay if you don't want to."

The teen met his gaze without flinching. "I wish to, Richard. You will not convince me otherwise."

Dick's mouth twitched in a smile and he crushed Damian to his chest - his baby brother whose head reached his shoulder now - man the little twerp was getting tall. "Thank you, Damian."

"T-t. Now let go of me before I break your arms."

Dick laughed and complied because really, sometimes Damian could spout wisdom like he was Buddha; but he'd be one heck of a killer Buddha with his assassin training.

So it was with a lighter heart that Dick saw his adoptive father and younger brother leave the Cave to patrol the most dangerous city in the country - and to search for his son.

"They will find the little Master," Alfred's soothing voice came from the stairs that led to the Manor. "It may take time, but rest assured, he will be returned safely."

Dick sighed and turned to face the elderly butler - the man who was his grandfather after the circus had to give him up. "I know, Alfred. Bruce and Tim are two of the greatest detectives in the world. But I just...I can't help but worry."

"It is the duty of a father." The butler's eyebrow quirked upwards as he teased, "And it is the duty of the rest of the family to keep the father sane."

"There will be time enough for insanity later," Damian's sarcastic voice cut through the camaraderie between them. The young teen had taken his father's seat by the Crays, his gaze riveted on the various information displayed on the large screens. He didn't turn to face them as he continued, "Once Dustin has been retrieved, you may frolic with him as you please, Richard. For now, we will be relentless in pursuing this criminal."

"I agree, Master Damian," Alfred nodded. "And I laud your courage in taking up the pursuit early to allow Master Dick to rest."

Dick's attention snapped to the butler as the words sunk in. "What? Alfred, I'm not-"

"Of course, Pennyworth," Damian spoke as if Dick hadn't said anything, "Richard should be ready to assist me when he has rested sufficiently."

"Uhh, I'm still here, you guys," Dick ventured, drawing Alfred's attention.

"Yes, Master Dick. The fact that you are lingering in the Cave and not resting in your room is quite lamentable."

"What..." it was then that Dick caught the glint in the butler's eye and he understood just what the old man and his younger brother were getting at. And while a part of him marvelled at how those two teamed up against him, another part (one that he squished into a very tiny speck as soon as it came in) railed at how two of his family practically strong-armed him into doing something he didn't want to do. In the end though, what defences did he have against the man who raised the Bat and the boy who was the son of the Bat?

He raised his arms in surrender and began to head upstairs to the Manor. "Alright, alright, I'm going." He paused halfway up as he warned them to, "Wake me when you've got something."

"Most assuredly, Master Dick. Rest well."

_Rest well_, Dick almost scoffed at the idea. His body was still buzzing with anxiety, and his mind was still busy conjuring images of his son dead or hurt or suffering. What was his kidnapper doing to him? Was Dusty even now crying for his daddy? Dick entered his room; but his bed wasn't welcoming and his head just wouldn't _shut up_so he started pacing.

Was Dusty given food and water? Dick had been restrained and forced to go without food or water a few times in his life; the weakness and gnawing hunger was not something he'd want his son to go through. Was Dusty even now being...tortured?

His mind shied from his memories of children cut or beaten or burned to death. A lifetime of crime-fighting in Gotham had given Dick horrific images that would rival the triple X-rated horror movies Hollywood could come up with - and some of those images involved children. Dick would be lucky if he didn't have a nightmare involving seeing his son being victimized by Zsasz...or worse yet: the Joker.

Maybe he should have asked Alfred for a sedative...

It was much later when Dick wound up in Dusty's bedroom. He wasn't quite sure how he had ended up in here, having been unconsciously avoiding it since his son's disappearance. A deep ache settled in his chest as he sat down on the bed, with Dusty's favorite toy in hand.

The emptiness that had filled the room was nearly tangible.

His son. His _baby,_was missing, and he was too much of an emotional basket-case to be of any use in Bruce's investigation. His mind raced, wondering where Dusty was, if he was hurt, if he was scared, if he was- Dick viciously cut off that train of thought. He needed to get it together, not for himself, but for his son.

Why had the kidnapper taken Dusty? Was it for the ransom? Several of Gotham's wealthier family had their children enrolled in that school. Maybe they had just grabbed his son, not caring which child it was? Or was it a vendetta against Bruce? He had certainly pissed off many people in the past. Or was it because he was Dick Grayson's son?

The only real suspects that fit that list were in Bludhaven; or in Roland Desmond's case, dead. Even then, no one had figured that Officer Grayson was _the_Bruce Wayne's adopted son. But this whole thing didn't feel like it came from his days in Bludhaven...or did it?

He was going back down the stairs taking two steps at a time before his head fully caught up to what he was doing. Dick Grayson had grown up virtually unknown in Gotham; overshadowed by the powerful and very public figure that was Bruce Wayne. It was partly why Dick had felt stifled during his teen years - he was part of a top-billing act in Haley's Circus. He wasn't a wallflower or just someone left in the background to be forgotten. Dick had been a showman ever since he could walk. Then he came to live with Bruce and suddenly, he wasn't a showman anymore; he was 'the charity case.'

Then he moved out of Gotham and into Bludhaven where he worked at low-paying jobs. It wasn't something Bruce had envisioned for him but hey, a circus kid was still a circus kid. Dick wasn't the kind of person to sit behind a desk all day and stare at monochrome charts. Being a bartender, then a cop, allowed him to move around, relatively unnoticed by people. And it was in this kind of obscurity that he found his fame - his opportunity to be his kind of showman and not the kind that Bruce expected.

And that was probably when he'd caught the attention of the kidnapper.

"Why are you here?" Damian turned to face him with a suspicious glare, the Crays glowing behind him.

"Couldn't sleep," He replied curtly, heading for the bank of monitors without pause. "Have you been checking the news in Bludhaven lately?"

"There is nothing of interest." The teen's eyes followed him back to the monitors where Dick opened a new search query. He typed in 'Bludhaven', cross-referenced it to 'Grayson', and then set the parameters to seven years. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking I'm not a public figure in Gotham as Bruce is," he said absently, scanning through the search results the Crays came up with.

"And you believe your connection with the kidnapper stems from Bludhaven? But you haven't been to that city in over a decade."

"Some criminals can hold a grudge their whole lives."

Damian puzzled that for a second before nodding, "True. What do you hope to find?"

Dick shook his head. "I'm not sure. I-" His eyes stopped roving as a name popped up in the query results: _Peter Harrison_.

He paused the search and clicked on that entry.

"Harrison?" Damian asked, "What is your connection with the Blackgate escapee?"

"He was one of my busts back when I was a cop. I..." a quick search revealed that along with the violent rampage that sent him to Blackgate, Harrison had been charged with drug dealing in Bludhaven months prior to his arrest by one Officer Grayson. He was sent out on a technicality but he'd been watched closely by the Vice Department since. It was thanks to that earlier bust that cops had been able to stop his rampage quickly. "And he's been in prison ever since..." Dick finished with a frown.

"And then he was transferred to Blackgate two years ago." Damian continued for him, reading the article over Dick's shoulder. "Bludhaven's penal system is still under renovation from Chemo's attack."

Dick nodded and typed in Clarke's name on the search query, cross-referencing it with Harrison's. The results that showed up were unsurprising: Clarke and Harrison had once shared cells in Blackgate.

"Looks like we've got proof they're working together." Dick remarked, only to be scoffed at by Damian.

"Obviously," The current Robin said. "They escaped together, did they not? But what does this have to do with my nephew's case?"

Dick glanced at him, half-amused and half-concerned at his little brother's possessive tone. He'd known for years now that Damian was protective of his son; but what worried him most is he didn't know how possessive his little brother could be. When Dusty grew up, Dick wondered if maybe he wouldn't be the one refusing to let his son go - it may as well be Damian who stalked Dusty's friends, monitored his classmates, and refused to permit him to join the sleepovers instead.

"Harrison swore to get his revenge on me," Dick explained. He'd decided that he'd deal with his little brother's issues when it came around. Like Alfred kept telling him, there was no need to borrow trouble when his lap was already full of them. "I know it's a long shot but, right now that's all we have."

Damian's blue eyes studied the screen in front of Dick for a moment then he nodded. "I will inform Father and Drake about your theory. Perhaps the reason why we have not found anything pertinent is because we have been searching for geese."

Dick found himself grinning, "You mean _a wild goose chase_."

"I do not see the need to include untamed birds in our discussion."

"Never mind." He stretched his arms over his head as a yawn overtook him. "Guess that means I can sleep for a bit. Thanks, Damie. Good night."

"Good night, Richard."


	9. Building the Plot

Notes: The plot thickens.

Notes: Last time, I wasn't feeling very well. This time, I'm feeling all bummed out because I ordered a Nightwing figurine online months ago and it hasn't arrived yet. I dunno whether the fault lies in the other country's post or in the local post office (I highly suspect the latter thanks to its reputation of 'lost' packages.) Dammit I want my figurine now!

* * *

Dick did manage to sleep a couple of hours that night, but jolted awake when the images of his bloodied and broken family began to appear. He sat up on the bed, elbows on his knees as he tried to rub the images from his mind. _Dusty's fine, they're all fine, no one's dead._ He chanted to himself, willing his pounding heart to calm down and for his red-tinged vision to clear.

It took several minutes for his heart to stop beating its way out of his chest. He hated having nightmares - they screw up his sleep and leave him feeling like there was a monster out to kill him the moment he closed his eyes. Bruce had explained once that it was just his brain trying to acclimate to the things that happened in the day, but the explanation doesn't help if his brain was still scrambling to shake off the effects of his terror.

He threw the covers off and slid to the floor. It was obvious he wouldn't be able to get back to sleep with the nightmare haunting him so he might as well be productive. A splash of cold water on his face helped banish the drowsiness and then he was heading back for the study and the hidden entrance to the Batcave.

He found Tim, Damian, and Bruce engrossed in their respective computer monitors, none of them showing any sign that they knew he was there. Dick found himself frowning as he made his way down the steps to get closer. "What did the Commish want?"

Tim glanced up, gave him a nod, and then proceeded to stare at the computer again. Dick's frown deepened.

"There was a report of the two escaped convicts spotted in Motel 88." Bruce explained without turning around.

Dick immediately became alert. He remembered his talk with Damian before he went to sleep and hoped Batman had news of Dusty's whereabouts. "And?"

"And nothing," Tim sighed, pushing back from the monitor to face his older brother. "We dropped by their motel room but they'd already left. They left a lot of burned fibers though."

"Burnt fibers and rubber," Bruce corrected. "The fibers are hemp, of a standard quality used in market-bought rope. The rubber is also of standard quality. There was nothing conclusive about any evidence left behind in the motel room."

"But that could mean they have Dusty," Dick guessed, "Right?"

"It could also mean nothing."

"They had a third guy with them," Tim offered as though to help Dick from falling into despair. "Crays is still searching for who the guy could be, but I found something else."

"What?" Dick quickly went to look over Tim's shoulder. "What did you find? Spill, Tim."

"Dusty's school had once hired Clarke for a short term."

"What? And you just found this now?"

"The school kept it under wraps but I hacked into their financial records before patrol. The program's just now finished tracking down the salaries of previous employees and came up with Clarke." Tim typed a few commands and sent the data he was looking at to the main monitor. "As you know, he'd been arrested for the murder of a prominent politician. What you don't know is that the politician's kid also attended Dusty's school. The administrators probably didn't want the bad rep this could bring down on them so they hid the record."

"T-t. Inconsiderate idiots." Damian snorted from his spot.

"That's not all," Tim continued, ignoring Damian's comment, "Clarke had been hired as groundskeeper before he got arrested."

"Meaning, he was given a key to the school grounds." Dick thought out loud.

"It makes sense," Bruce agreed, spinning his chair to face them. "Clarke's neighbours said they'd seen two men come into his apartment shortly after the escape. The two didn't stay long before leaving and haven't returned since."

"They probably only went back to Clarke's to retrieve the key." Tim concluded.

"You are all forgetting what is important," Damian cut in, his arms crossed as he scowled at them from his seat. "You forgot: where are they holding my nephew?"

Dick paused, a smile tugging at his lips as he looked at his youngest brother. While they'd been worrying at the case like a dog with a bone, Damie had stuck to what was most important. It made Dick proud that his brother had shaken off the assassin training to learn to care for his family...

The smile dropped as his little brother's words sunk in. '_His nephew?'_ Since when did Little D start getting this possessive of his son?

_Since you sat him down and told him he was an uncle._

"What I'd like to know," Tim spoke up, interrupting Dick's inner voice. "Is who their third guy is."

"I can help with that," Babs' voice came through the speakers as the main screen reformed into a video of her at the Clocktower. "I went through the Blackgate logs. Not only did Clarke and Harrison share prison cells, but they also had the same guard on a repeating stint for over a period of several years."

"Who?" Bruce demanded.

"A former patrolman named Daniel Moore."

The name pinged a small alarm in Dick's head. But when nothing more was forthcoming, he dismissed the feeling to be looked into when he had more information. He'd come across a lot of people in his night life; sometimes their names just blurred together until he couldn't make heads nor tails from it.

"Moore," Damian repeated, as he leaned forward with interest. "The Warden mentioned him as trouble."

"He's also been missing work ever since the breakout." Babs added. Her face and voice were serious as she relayed her findings, much like her Oracle persona only without the avatar to hide behind. Her green eyes though, gave Dick a brief glance of concern as she waited for Bruce to start issuing orders.

She and Dick had gone some ways in fixing their relationship; when Dusty came along, Babs hadn't been very welcoming at this sudden intrusion into their relationship. It hurt for her to find out Dick had so easily gotten a girl pregnant even if they were on the outs. And it hurt that Dick could so easily move on without her while she was stuck in her chair.

Or, that's what Dick thought. Babs had never told him in his four years of raising Dusty just why she kept her distance from him. And Dick respected her privacy enough not to push, even though it killed him every time she refused an invitation to hang out with Dusty, saying that she had some JL emergency or other. Despite her earlier promise of being an aunt to Dusty, Damian was closer to his young nephew than her at this point.

"This is all circumstantial," Tim suggested with a disappointed frown. "Moore's connection with the other two could just be coincidence at this point."

"I have a witness claiming Moore helped sneak them out of their cells." Babs countered.

"Good enough for me." Damian said, rising to his feet.

"Where are you going?" Dick asked him, a chill settling in his gut at the intense look on his youngest brother's face.

"To find this _Moore_ and teach him the error of his ways."

"Hey, wait a minute!" Tim was shoving to his feet too, ready to intercept. "You can't just go and interrogate him based on a flimsy connection like this!"

Damian aimed a cold gaze at the twenty one year old. "I am a Wayne and an Al Ghul. My nephew has been taken. I will teach all of them never to bring harm to my family."

Now, it was Bruce who stood up. "Damian. Stand down." He commanded in a voice that usually brought Dick to heel. Even if Dick had grown enough not to always heed that voice, the tone demanded all attention and always brought silence whenever it came into play. This time was the same as Damian stilled in the middle of the Cave.

"Whether Moore is in this or not," the eldest Wayne continued, "we need to investigate this case _thoroughly _and _carefully_." He looked pointedly at Dick. "Harrison is _our_ problem and not anyone's to face alone."

"I was planning to hunt for Moore, not Harrison," Damian protested.

"And who has Dusty?"

To his credit, Damian met Batman's glare with one of his own for five seconds before his shoulders lowered.

Bruce nodded, knowing that he had gotten his point across. Harrison had sworn revenge against Dick and if he had Dusty - never mind whether Moore was with him or not - then he was a hair-trigger away from laying onto the kid. An attack on Moore could incite the convict into violence and no one wanted that, least of all Dick.

"All of you, get some rest for now." Bruce ordered, turning back to the Crays. "I'll find Harrison's old hideouts."

Tim and Damian obediently trooped for the staircase that led to the Manor but Dick lingered as he waited for Bruce to acknowledge him.

"That includes you, Dick." The eldest Wayne said firmly.

But Dick was having none of it. "Bruce, I can help-"

"No. You rest. You need it."

Dick sighed and turned for the stairs himself, recognizing the stubborn tone in his adoptive father's voice. Experience had it that when the Bat made up his mind, nothing short of a nuke would change it. It was the only reason why one powerless human could count himself a respected member of the most powerful heroes in the world. It was also why said human consistently earned the award for 'most obstinate hero'.

Dick was halfway up the staircase when he spotted movement from the top. It was Alfred coming down the steps with his back straight as was his usual poise. Dick shared a meaningful glance with the elderly butler as he passed, the old man clapping a hand on his shoulder and smiling slightly as he headed for the brooding presence Dick was leaving.

Message delivered and received; Dick walked the rest of the way to his room with a spring in his step, knowing that one stubborn Bat was about to go head to head against a more stubborn former British spy.


	10. Reaching for the Climax

Notes: The trail grows hotter.

Notes2: I'm still bummed over not receiving my Nightwing figurine. I'm beginning to think that someone in the local post office stole my package It is NOT a good feeling.

Guest: Depends on whether InvisibleBrunette and/or I get ideas to write that. I might write a oneshot, or I might not. We'll have to see :) But thanks for the review and we're glad you liked what we wrote.

Konri Kari: That's just me inserting humor wherever I can. Hehehe.

Clove15: Good to have you onboard :)

* * *

It was Babs who found Harrison's old hideouts. As the leading information resource for the JLA and several other allied hero groups, Oracle could hack into and trace the trail of any petty criminal - and even some masterminds. There was very little her systems couldn't get into given enough time.

Sometimes though, time wasn't on their side.

Dick was warming Bruce's chair in the Cave again, waiting for everyone's reports to come in. He'd been outvoted into staying out of patrol again, and it rankled how everyone was treating him like he was a hair trigger away from blowing up.

In his mind, he understood their reasons behind benching him; but his brain and his heart weren't seeing eye to eye and his fingers were just itching to shoot out jump lines and his legs were just singing at him to leap into the air...

"The warehouse is empty." Damian's voice filtered through the speakers, cutting through Dick's developing panic. "It doesn't appear to be used recently."

"Copy that, Robin," it took some effort, but Dick managed to keep most of the shakiness from his voice. He hoped the filtering through the comms would hide the evidence of his near panic attack...

"Nightwing," Robin spoke again, "Dustin will be found. And he will be fine." And with those words, Damian firmly crushed Dick's hope that he'd hid his weakness successfully. The former Batman should have known that either the original Bat or the Bat's son would be the one to catch him when he was feeling vulnerable.

"He will be unharmed or there will be dire consequences." Damian finished matter-of-factly.

Dick huffed out a laugh, already feeling some of his tension bleed away. He could always count on his little brother's inner confidence - he wasn't going to call it 'arrogance' this one time. "I-I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Robin."

The only response he received was the click of a comms being switched off. But his little brother's words gave him hope; told him to have faith that everything will turn out alright. It was all Dick could do right now. It was all _anyone _could do without taking a trip down the crazy lane.

Dick rubbed his burning eyes, trying to moisten corneas that had dried from staying open so long.

"I've got something," Tim's voice came on, making Dick's heart lurch in his chest.

"Red Robin, report," Batman ordered before Dick could say anything.

"I'm at one of Harrison's storage lockers," Tim explained, the monitor screen switching to a window with his image on it. Dick had glimpses of a dirty wall behind his younger brother's head. "Looks like it's been used very, very recently," Red Robin continued. "Whoever they were left a lot of garbage behind."

" 'Garbage?'" Dick repeated.

"Candy wrappers. Empty packs of Oreos. Squished juice packs. Expiry labels say they're new."

"Biscuits and tetra packs," Batman concluded, "Could be homeless. Or Harrison and the others were just hungry. Or..."

"Kids' snacks." Dick finished with growing horror. That was it; the evidence they'd been looking for to prove that Moore, Harrison and Clarke had Dusty. After all, why else would two Blackgate escapees buy kids' snacks while in hiding?

"Again, this is all circumstantial-" Batman tried to stave off the inevitable but Dick was having none of it.

"What else do you need, Bruce?" He exploded. "Those three have Dusty and you know it! If you don't believe in coincidences and everything we've found so far are pointing to only one conclusion, then what else are you looking for?"

"Irrefutable proof." Bruce answered calmly. "So these three will _not _get off on a technicality."

His adoptive father's words quickly shoved a needle to pop the bubble of anger that was growing in Dick's chest. Bruce was right, as usual. Dick had been priding himself with making things easier for the cops to prosecute during his stint as Batman; he'd always taken pains to leave evidence untainted so the criminals faced justice instead of walking out free thanks to some clever lawyer. But when it came to his own son, he'd cheerfully thrown half of his training out the window.

It was...humiliating, to say the least. Bruce had made sure to instil respect for the evidence in each one of his Robins - and it was one of his most sacred rules in the fight against crime. Dick had just stomped on that for his son.

"Calm down, Nightwing," Batman's voice ordered, breaking Dick out of his thoughts. "Neither Harrison nor Clarke are the ones who would harm a child. Dusty will be fine with them. Moore, on the other hand, is an unknown."

"There's something else." Tim said suddenly. "I've found what looks like a few pieces of half-burned rubber bands."

" 'Rubber bands?'" Dick asked.

"Clarke's profile said he loved to entertain children with manipulating rubber bands into shapes." Damian offered in the brief silence as they all thought about the implications of Tim's latest find.

"Red Robin, can you check the area you found the rubber in for unique energy signatures?" Dick asked, forcing himself not to sound too hopeful as an idea occurred to him. If he was wrong, it could mean they were looking in the wrong place. But if he was right...

"Affirmative." Tim answered automatically. "What kind of energy signature should I be looking for?"

"The kind that metas leave behind."

Silence greeted his request. It was a known fact who Dusty's other parent was and what he had inherited from her. But Bruce's distrust of all things meta kept him from openly acknowledging that little fact. It was always Dick who reminded him that his grandson was a card-carrying member of that meta community - so it was no surprise that it would be Dick who remembered just what his son can do.

"Don't get your hopes up, Nightwing," Bruce's voice came over the speakers, laced with concern. It was as much a word of caution and worry for Dick. As Batman, Bruce had had his own experiences with kidnapped children; and as father to four, the billionaire had experiences with kidnapped sons several times over. But that doesn't make the next incident any less easy to bear.

"Got it." Red Robin called. "I see traces of psionic energy discharge - particularly at a frequency similar to Dusty's."

Dick's breath left him in a whoosh. There they had it: proof that the two Blackgate escapees had Dusty with them. He battled within himself whether the news was a good thing because now they knew where to look for his son; or bad because now they knew his son was in the hands of Harrison, the man who swore revenge on the officer who tossed him in the slammer - one Officer Dick Grayson.

"Oracle," Batman's voice broke into his grim thoughts, "concentrate your search on Moore."

_"Already done."_

"Red Robin," Batman continued issuing orders. "I'll be there in ten. Robin, did you find anything?"

"This apartment has not been used for months." Damian reported.

"Go home. We will resume the search when-"

The rest of Batman's words were drowned as Alfred's voice came from the staircase leading to the Manor, "Master Dick, there's a phone call for you."

Dick's entire world narrowed down to the elderly butler - Alfred's face was pale, worry lines were etched deeper on his skin and the serious tone in his voice - and Dick just _knew_.

"It's them, isn't it?" he whispered.

Alfred nodded as he stepped closer into the light of the Batcave. "I'm afraid so, Master Dick."

Dick heaved a resigned sigh, just now registering that he'd left the comms on so the rest of his family had heard the brief conversation.

"Nightwing," Batman's command cut through Robin's demands for explanations and Red Robin's concerned questions. "Dick, what happened?"

"I-I got a phone call," Dick explained, his hand hovering over the button that would link the call to the Crays - and into their comms.

"Patch it through."

Normally, Dick didn't need to be reminded of what to do but his mind blanked from the moment Alfred announced the phone call and it was only with Bruce's gentle commands did his brain jumpstart into his training.

Up until this point, the kidnappers had been silent. No demands, ransoms, nor ultimatums; leaving the vigilantes to wonder at the purpose behind the kidnapping. But now, with this call, Dick hoped they were going to get the answer to their question.

He pushed the button that would connect the phone call to the Crays, quickly typing in the commands to trace the call as he waited for it to be connected. He may not have been as good as Timmy when it came to computers, but he could hold his own and Bruce had made sure to keep his equipment up to date with the latest gadgets.

"Dick Grayson speaking," he said into a small microphone that filtered outside noise so the caller wouldn't realize the call wasn't private - a couple of commands more and the rest of the family was now listening in as well.

"_It's about time, Mister Grayson,_" the man's voice floated over the Cray's speakers. The man's voice quality was muffled, probably the result of having a rag over the mouthpiece. "_You don't know who I am, but I believe I have something that you'll find very, _very,_ interesting._"

"You're the one who took Dustin." Dick said in as emotionless a tone as possible, though inwardly he was railing in anger at the man who took his son.

"_Why aren't you clever! I bet you even know why I'm calling!_"

There was only one thing kidnappers usually wanted: "Money. You want money." Dick replied. Despite his best effort to keep his voice even, the father in him rose up as he pleaded. "I'll give you any amount you name, but let me speak with my son. If he's hurt, you won't get a damn thing."

"_Don't tell me what to do!_" the man snapped. "_I'm calling the shots here! You can talk to the little bastard if _I_ say so! When I say so!"_

"Okay, okay," Dick immediately backtracked, stifling his panicked instincts. Dusty's kidnapper was obviously unstable and the last thing he wanted was for this man to lash out at his son in spite. So he kept a stranglehold on the angry father inside him and adopted a soothing tone, "Look, I just want to talk to my son. Make sure he's okay."

But his hopes were dashed when the man snarled, "_I don't care what you want, you son of a bitch. Had to put the little bastard to sleep anyways. Keeps burning things._"

Dick could hear the gasp and hitched breath coming from his family; it was all he could do not to react in the same way. The man's statement had clearly meant the kidnappers had drugged Dusty...and all at once Dick had the frightening image of his son lying motionless on the ground, drugged to the point of death.

Dick had learned early what too much of a sedative could do to a person - _slow down the organs, the heart, the brain until- No, I can't think like that_! Dick tried to shake away the pounding of his heart but the lesson had stuck to his mind along with Batman's many precautionary tales.

"_What did he do to Dustin?_" Damian's hissing quickly dispelled the mental image and Dick clung to that with both hands and feet. He was glad though, that the Crays' filtering kept his family's voices out of the conversation.

"_He's just sedated," _Red Robin answered for Dick."_But don't lose hope. The burned things we keep finding? It means Dusty's fighting._"

"_I expected nothing less._" Robin grumbled and Dick had to agree with his youngest brother. Dusty was- _is_ a fighter. Both Dick and Cheyenne had made sure of that.

"_Well? Are you ready to hear my demands now?" _The man's voice brought Dick's attention back to the phone call.

He clenched his fist at the hate in the man's tone but kept his anger to himself as he replied, "Fine. What do you want."

"_Fifty million dollars, for starters. And y__ou bring it - alone. None of your brothers, no capes your rich daddy might have in his pocket and no cops. If you don't comply, you and your kid are _dead._ Am I clear?"_

"When do you want it." Dick could barely keep his anger in check. His son had been taken because some criminal wanted money? Sometimes he couldn't believe the greed that lurked in people's hearts.

"_Tomorrow. Eleven a.m. sharp. You have the morning to get the money ready. You'll get another call early in the morning for the location. If for any reason you don't answer the phone or you're late to the drop, you're both dead._"There was a click, and the line went dead.

The dial tone filled the cave along with the irritating beep of a trace ending abruptly.

Over the span of the next few moments, the Cave was silent but for the bats sleepily chittering above; then Dick slammed his hand on the console in front of him, shoving his chair back to stand. He didn't realize how ragged his breathing was or that his eyes were stinging until a white handkerchief gently wiped the tears from his cheeks.

"Alfie?" His voice was barely more than a whisper, but the butler heard him nonetheless.

"Have faith, Master Dick," encouraged the man who was a grandfather to him.

"We'll get him back, Dick," his adoptive father promised over the comms as though he recognized Dick's distress. "Come hell, or high water, Dustin will be back home, and safe."

Again, Dick recalled the lesson on anaesthetics and sedatives Bruce had instilled in him years ago. For a short period of time after that, Dick had shied away from every shot of sedative Alfred wanted to give him; until Bruce came and asked for his trust. And Dick had given it, just like he was giving it now.

"I trust you." And with three words, Dick put his faith on his adoptive father - _on Batman_.

That night, Tim and Damian came home dejected. Their shoulders were slumped and they couldn't look Dick in the eye as both headed for the showers to change into civvies. Bruce on the other hand, gave him a nod and made a beeline for the Crays. The eldest Wayne busied himself researching on the powerful computers without another word. It was as though no one and nothing else existed but Bruce and the Crays.

Bruce's behaviour didn't come as a surprise to Dick; his adoptive father had had these fits once in a while when a particular case challenged him. And instead of feeling despair that even the Bat couldn't solve his case, Dick felt energized. Usually, when one of them failed in a mission or had difficulties with a case, they would come home depressed and feeling like they weren't good enough for the vigilante life.

But not Bruce.

To the man who commanded the respect of the most powerful metahumans on the planet, any failure didn't mean that he wasn't good enough but rather, he _hadn't done enough_. Bruce would set his jaw and keep plodding on, searching for that one weakness, that one clue to break the case wide open. The Bat doesn't believe in wasting effort on self-pity. And the Bat would never let his family be hurt by a criminal.

"Voice recognition couldn't identify the caller," Bruce said to no one in particular. "Harrison's and Clarke's voices have been recorded on Blackgate security; neither of their voice patterns matched the one who called."

Dick stepped closer to his adoptive father's chair. "Then it must be Moore who called."

Bruce nodded in agreement. "I've had Oracle check on Moore. There must be something..."

"We've checked all of their previous apartments," Tim offered as he joined them, still towel-drying his hair, "And in Harrison's case, his known hideouts. None of them showed anything useful except for the storage locker."

"And even then, the evidence we found is stale." Damian grumbled, coming out of the showers after Tim. "I do not appreciate all this waiting while my nephew is in those delinquents' hands."

"What else can we do?" Tim challenged him. "We've tried everything-"

"Enough." Bruce said firmly. "All of you, rest while you can. Dick, I'll have Lucius ready the money for pick up."

"Bruce, I can help-" Dick tried but was cut off.

"No. I need you well-rested."

Dick sighed in exasperation and turned for the stairs. "Like I could get some sleep..." he muttered as he walked all the way back to his room.

Growing up with Bruce, Dick knew when his adoptive father was set in his decision and wouldn't let anything sway him - not even the puppy-eyed look from an adorable blue-eyed boy.

So he clung to his faith. It was all he could do.


	11. Rushing for the Showdown

Notes: In which, something is revealed.

Notes2: I'm still feeling somewhat depressed. So to all our new reviewers, much thanks for your appreciation and patience with me.

* * *

The next day rolled around with Dick anxiously waiting by the phone for the next call. As predicted, he barely slept a wink last night. Images of his failure sprung on him the moment he closed his eyes and haunted him until the first rays of dawn shone through the curtains.

He glumly went through his morning routine before making his way downstairs. The door to Dusty's room was shut and Dick found himself automatically reaching out to open it before he realized what he was doing. He froze and let his hand fall to his side. Dusty's door had always been left open - the only times the door was closed were when someone in the family wanted to spend a little private time with his son.

Bruce liked to baby Dusty and didn't want the others to see what ridiculousness he could get into with the kid. Damian prefers to interact with Dusty without an audience. Dick wasn't sure exactly what Tim gets up to in Dusty's room - the young man wasn't a frequent visitor to the Manor ever since he got his own group of Titans - so Dick hadn't had a chance to sneak a peek into what goes on in Dusty's room when Tim was around.

Dick sighed and steeled himself to turn away from his son's door.

He still had to find his son's kidnapper and get Dusty back home.

He found Alfred setting the table when he walked into the dining room. The old butler carefully lined up the silver utensils: fork at the left, knife and teaspoon at the right. Dick remembered the first few days when Bruce took him in. He'd always had trouble recalling which spoon to use for which course - he grew up with one-dish-meals in the circus; having a handful of dishes set in front of him had him wondering whether Bruce and Alfred were having a party.

"Master Dick," Alfred called softly. Dick glanced up, just now noticing the dark circles underneath the butler's eyes.

"Morning, Alfie," he greeted the old butler, "couldn't sleep either?"

"I'm afraid the little Master has taken to his father's life much earlier than anticipated." Alfred's tone was bland, but when he turned around to grab the butter plates, Dick noticed his mouth held the hint of a smile.

Dick grinned back, though he didn't feel the humor in the situation when his son was missing. But he recognized the butler's attempt at reassuring him. "Hey, if it helps, _none _of us expected something like this to happen."

"Indeed, Master Dick," Alfred agreed, setting down butter plates and the accompanying knives.

At that moment, Tim came into the dining room followed by Damian.

"Hey, Dick," the twenty-year old greeted.

"Hey," Dick half-heartedly greeted back.

"Any word from Moore?"

Dick shook his head, already feeling whatever happiness the morning brought go down the drain.

"T-t." Damian snipped as he took his seat by the table. With just two letters, he had conveyed the kind of hell he'll visit on the ones who took his nephew. Once again Dick found himself wondering whether to be glad that his little brother would be protective of his son or worried because his little brother was bordering on being overprotective and possessive.

But before he could reply, Bruce came striding in with a carefully blank expression on his face.

"Bruce?"

The eldest Wayne turned to Dick. "We have a lead."

Three more sets of eyes immediately looked at Bruce, waiting. Dick simply nodded as he asked, "Where?"

"Moore's ex-wife's family owned a house near Otisburg." Bruce explained. "When she married, Moore became co-owner but the couple never lived there. Moore was then cancelled out of the deed when they divorced but Moore's ex-wife decided to move to Metropolis. The house was left behind, abandoned."

"And you think Moore and the others are using it?" Tim ventured.

"Not just think. _I know_. The house's electricity and water became active yesterday."

Damian shoved his chair back as he stood, fire in his blue eyes. "Then what are we waiting for?"

"Damian." Bruce's command quickly had the teen's glare aimed at him. "We need to wait for Moore's call or they might hurt Dusty." If it was possible, the fire in Damian's blue eyes intensified but Bruce continued talking. "We need to make sure Moore, Harrison, and Clarke remain unaware that we know where they are."

"Why?" Damian spat. "They should know by now that Grayson should have the assistance of Batman-"

"They specifically said, 'no capes,'" Tim pointed out. "We can't risk it."

"So we sit idly by and watch?"

"No. We will standby until they reveal themselves." Bruce was looking at Dick as he answered Damian, subtly conveying that he and the others had Dick's back.

Dick was glad for their support. Not only did it mean that he would have help in getting Dusty back, but that his son's chances of coming back safe increased with the entire Batfamily watching out for him.

A shrill ringing cut the silence.

Dick hurried out of the dining room to answer it, feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Wayne Manor seldom received calls so early in the morning - most of the calls were from Lucius and involved Wayne Enterprises business, but a few were from family members or friends (more often Dick's than Bruce's). And then there were the few that came in from strangers when one member of the family was missing.

As it did then. Dick had barely gotten past "Hello" when Moore's angry voice snarled at him, "_Are you ready with the money_?"

Dick shot a pointed look at Bruce, telling him without speaking that yes, it was Moore who called. His adoptive father gave a nod and Dick turned his attention back to the phone. "I don't have it with me, but it'll be ready by eleven."

"_Good. Bring it to this address,_" he rattled off a short address that Dick had no trouble remembering."_And remember: no cops, no capes_!" Then Moore hung up.

Dick sighed at the sound of the dial tone and glumly returned the handset to its cradle. Even the kidnappers were taking on Bruce's habit of hanging up without saying goodbye.

"Dick?" _Speaking of which..._

He relayed the kidnapper's message to his impatient family, taking note of Bruce narrowing his eyes at the mention of the address of the drop-off. "Sound familiar to you?"

"Yes." His adoptive father nodded grimly. "The address. It's the same one as Moore's ex-wife's."

"Wait a minute!" Tim burst in, his face tilted down and his eyes darted left and right as he digested the message. "It doesn't make sense. Why would a kidnapper set up a drop point in the same place as his hideout?"

"Perhaps he wishes to finish this quickly." Damian growled, smacking one fist into his open palm. In a lower growl, he admitted, "I wish the same."

"No, that's not it," Tim ignored the teen's second sentence. "Normally, kidnappers set up a neutral ground for the drop off where they can watch who comes and goes, have a ready exit, and is isolated enough so they won't be disturbed. Houses in Otisburg are isolated, yes, but majority aren't in open areas, nor can a man leave the area without being seen by the neighbours."

"It becomes doubly conspicuous if the man in question is popular like a Wayne," Damian agreed.

Dick immediately protested, "I haven't exactly been advertising-"

"You've attended enough charity events to be recognizable in public, Dick," Bruce interrupted. "Tim is right. A house in Otisburg gets a lot of neighbourhood traffic. It would be easy for the GCPD to set up roadblocks or for one of us to entrap the kidnappers as soon as Dusty has been returned. And I highly doubt they are willing to keep a struggling child for long. Setting up a drop point the same as their hideout means they're not looking to make a clean getaway."

"I will feed them with their own entrails if they've harmed my nephew." Damian promised, but Dick felt the blood drain from his face as something occurred to him.

"They haven't killed Dusty, have they?" he couldn't bring his voice above a whisper. "Is that why they haven't let me talk to him?"

But Bruce shook his head in reassurance. "No, you would know there's something wrong the moment they show Dusty for the trade."

Dick nodded, feeling his fears ease. But confusion came in the wake of his fright as he thought out loud, "They're not really after the money, are they?" Bruce, Tim, and Damian all shook their heads but he continued, "So I show up alone, with a bag full of cash. Moore and maybe Harrison..." he trailed off, meeting his family's gazes as another thought came to him. "Harrison."

Tim slowly nodded. "Yes. The drug dealer who promised to get back at you for arresting him."

"So Harrison roped Moore and Clarke into grabbing my kid and forcing a confrontation with me?" But Dick shook his head. He had the feeling his reasoning was close, and yet far from being true. Harrison didn't have it in his profile to lead and Clarke was reportedly fond of kids and wouldn't hurt them on purpose.

That leaves Moore.

"Why would a Blackgate prison guard want to get to you?" Tim asked the same question in Dick's mind.

"That's what I'd like to know." Dick rubbed the back of his neck. "What do we have on Moore?"

In response, Tim pulled out his touch screen phone and started to research. "Moore worked for Blackgate for three years; before that, he was on the police force for fifteen years. He and his wife were married for around twenty years and they had one child, Jacob. They actually lived in Bludhaven to make it easier for Moore to get to work.

"But prior to Moore's transferring to Blackgate," Tim's eyebrows furrowed as he continued reading, "he and his wife filed for divorce and she went back to live with her parents."

"Hang on," Dick interrupted, "they'd been living together for what, twenty years? Then they get a divorce? Something's not adding up." He tilted his head towards Tim. "What about their kid?"

"You're right." Tim's frown deepened and he scrolled further on his phone. "Ah, here it is. The kid was diagnosed a meta with a low telekinetic degree. He got hit in the crossfire when he came across a robbery. Needless to say, the situation didn't go as he planned, and he was killed."

"T-t. Foolish untrained idiot." Damian snorted.

Dick had half-turned to berate Damian about his comment and how being a meta-kid with good intentions shouldn't be discouraged when a faint memory struck him.

"_-just like you, Officer!_"

"_Call me Dick,_" _he'd crouched down to meet the earnest kid's eyes. _"_And I'm afraid you've got a lot of growing up to do to get into the police force. But tell you what, you keep practicing control over your powers, and maybe you'll be recruited into something bigger. What do you say?"_

"_Really? But Dad said I shouldn't. He said my powers make me a freak._"

_He grabbed the kid's shoulders then, to make sure he got his point across. He'd never been a believer of making a metahuman kid suppress his powers to control it - experience told him time and time again that meta powers __**hated **__being suppressed. They ended up acting like ticking time-bombs. _"_Listen, you're __**not **__a freak. If you are, then that makes Flash a freak too. But he's not, isn't he?_"

_"No way! He's a hero!"_

_"And you can be one too. Just keep practicing!"_

The room was spinning. His knees felt like they could barely hold him up. "Oh God."

"What's wrong?" Bruce's hand on his shoulder felt heavy as his adoptive father kept him steady. "Dick. You've gone pale as a sheet."

"When-" the words stuck in his throat. He had to swallow hard just to get them out. "When I was on the beat in Bludhaven... There was this kid. He was a meta repressing his powers. I-I encouraged him to practice his abilities. I didn't see or heard from him again until a few months later. There was an article in the paper about a kid that had been killed trying to save a lady."

"It was Jacob Moore." Bruce finished.

"It-it fits. Jacob must have told his dad about my talk with him. And Moore must have..." He shook his head, burying his hands in his hair. "It was my fault! I brought this on Dusty. If-if I hadn't talked to Jacob, encouraged him...this, this wouldn't have happened!"

"Dick, calm down. You had no way of predicting this."

"But I knew Moore was going to be pissed!" He paced the length of the hallway. Guilt ate at him, at the memory of a young boy, eager to make his mark on the world; at the grief any parent would suffer with the loss of their child; at the pain and suffering _he _brought down on poor, innocent Dusty. "I basically told Jacob to rebel against his dad. And now Moore's got my kid and he's gonna kill him. Oh god, Moore's gonna kill Dusty."

"Richard! Calm down!" Bruce's bark and a firm yank backwards brought Dick's attention back to his adoptive father. "This _isn't _your fault. If you want to blame someone, blame _me._"

"What-? Bruce...you..."

The original Batman drew himself back as soon as Dick stopped in his frantic pace. Bruce's form was tall, proud, and no amount of powerful winds would ever topple him. "I raised you. I drilled my ethics, my philosophies into you. _All _of you." His tone rose to indicate the other two behind him. "If you want someone to blame for putting faith in your belief that a metahuman should control rather than suppress his powers, _blame me_."

Dick met his adoptive father's gaze and saw nothing but conviction. Bruce considered everything that happened was his fault and wouldn't be swayed otherwise. But Dick could neither blame Bruce for being his teacher, nor could Bruce blame himself for being a kid that one night, thirty-odd years ago, when he froze motionless with fear.

Dick closed his eyes, took a deep breath and let his panic go. When he opened his eyes again, he met Bruce's gaze with a solemn nod.

"Are you done?" Damian's voice cut through the silence. The teen's arms were crossed over his chest as he impatiently glared at them. "We need to retrieve my nephew."

"Right, right," Dick smiled at his little brother. "You have a plan?"

"Yes." Bruce answered. "We'll set up a surveillance post in one of Moore's neighbor's houses. We'll be leaving immediately and arrive at the address hours before the drop-off. Dick, you'll be going in alone."

"Got it."

"Good. Let's go, boys."


	12. Climax

Notes: Showtime!

Notes2: Feel better now. Working on responses.

Guest: Crossing Alfred is on a list of 'stupid things to do' hehehe.

AJCrane: We all need our support circle no matter how old we are :) And I sure hope you're looking forward to this chappie.

Glimare: Glad to see you're enjoying our little Dusty-verse. I like your stuff too, you know ;) I think you're one of the better writers in the fandom.

* * *

Bruce, Tim, and Damian left quickly; bringing with them several surveillance equipment that included an infrared scanner with a range of three kilometers. Tim had managed to find a house that was close enough for the Bats to help and yet far enough away that Moore and the other two wouldn't see them.

Heck, even _Dick _couldn't see which house they picked; and he knew they were around. It brought to mind how vulnerable he felt, standing in the middle of Moore's former neighbourhood with nothing but the clothes on his back, a duffel bag full of money, and a couple of well-hidden batarangs just in case.

He wished he could've brought one of the spare utility belts in the Cave but Bruce didn't want to risk it, not against not-so-insane crooks like Moore and Harrison. Revealing Batman's chief financier and forming Batman Inc had everyone in the family walking on eggshells in a constant bid not to reveal their identities. Despite Bruce's rumor-mongering in forums, the thin line between their civilian and hero identities were still thinner than ever.

It only makes Dick wish he had some sort of super power to hide behind; but no, all he had was his wits...and the World's Greatest Detective behind him.

Moore's former neighbourhood was quiet with most of its residents at work. There weren't a lot of kids here; not with the nearest school almost an hour away. It wasn't the most practical neighbourhood to raise a kid in, but Dick was willing to bet Moore couldn't afford better housing on a cop's salary - not if he wanted to save half of his wife's dowry.

Despite the school being far away however, Dick thought it was a nice, relatively safe place to live. Relatively safe being the key word, since you never know when there's a kidnapper hiding behind the smiling face of your next-door neighbour.

Dick steeled himself and trudged for the address Moore gave him.

The house was a modest two-storey house with a cemented walkway leading from the sidewalk to the front porch, a small garage fit for one car, and pastel-painted wood paneling. Dick stood watching from the sidewalk, debating with himself whether to walk right up to the door or to sneak in through the back. He didn't know where in the house did Moore and the other two kept Dusty, so he opted to walk up to the front door.

The white door opened when he was a little more than half way, revealing Daniel Moore with a .45 handgun loosely held in his hand. He didn't point it at Dick - _yet_- but Moore was clearly thinking about it and he could point and shoot faster than Dick could grab his batarangs.

"Mister Grayson!" Moore called gleefully. Whatever resemblance Daniel Moore had to the earnest kid Dick had talked to years ago was gone with the number of age-lines on the man's face. Life had clearly not treated Moore well in the recent years; his manic grin sent a shiver up Dick's spine and the crazed look in his eyes told Dick to be careful not to provoke the man. "Please, do come in! I believe that Dustin is more than ready to see his daddy again."

The former boy wonder held his tongue and continued up the drive. Moore was clearly not-right-in-the-head, and people like those were unpredictable when provoked; case in point: the Joker.

As soon as his feet touched the porch, the kidnapper moved to the side, one hand on the door and the other tightening its grip on the gun. Dick hesitated, but stepped into the house as indicated. He kept his eyes forward, searching the sparsely decorated interior for any sign of his son, as the sound of a door latching closed came from behind.

"Alright, Grayson, move." Moore's voice and a firm nudge on his back got him to walk deeper into the house. He passed by the narrow staircase and the door that led to the kitchen right into a room set near the back. A bare light bulb in the middle of the room showed him a standard sized guest room that was turned into a storage room of sorts, with dust-covered junk scattered towards the sides and leaving a large empty space in the middle.

"That's far enough, Grayson," Moore ordered, "Leave the bag on the floor. Now turn around slowly and keep your hands where I can see them."

Dick did as he was told, raising his hands high in the air and away from the batarangs hidden behind his back as he turned to face Moore.

The armed kidnapper sneered. "Good. Wayne raised himself an obedient boy."

"Where're the other two? And where's Dusty?" Dick demanded.

"You'll see them in a minute. First, kick the bag away."

That had Dick frowning. If Moore was after the money, he'd ask Dick to kick the bag towards him so he could pick it up while the gun was still aimed at Dick, then leave the house - and hopefully Dusty - behind. But to just 'kick it away'? Dick figured Moore was planning something, and he didn't think he'd like what that plan was.

"What the f*ck is he doing here?" a rough voice shouted behind Moore.

A familiar face appeared over Moore's shoulder, and Dick realized this wasn't just a simple kidnapping attempt - this was a plot for Moore to exact his revenge. _If those two harmed Dusty or killed him_...

The two kidnappers paid no heed to the growing fear on Dick's face though, as they argued by the door. "You didn't have to get him in here!" Harrison was yelling loud enough to wake the neighbors - if there were any neighbors who stayed home instead of going to work. "You could've just grabbed the bag and we'll leave through the back door! Why the f*ck did you shove him in here?"

"Shut the f*ck up," Moore snarled at him. "_I'm_ running the show, not you. _I'll _grab the money when I feel like it."

"F*ck! You weren't planning on escaping, were you? You just wanted Grayson here!"

"Did you just figure that out for yourself?" Moore sneered. Not once did his aim at Dick waver. "Bet you regret letting me take the lead now. Tell Clarke to get the kid in here."

Dick perked up at that. He was going to see Dusty soon! But he kept his face impassive to keep Moore and Harrison from seeing his eagerness. He didn't want to tempt them into keeping Dusty away from him.

Harrison though, was backing away in reluctance. "What the f*ck are you planning to-"

"Just get Clarke and the kid in here!"

Harrison aimed a dirty look at Moore before he turned and left.

Moore was smirking at Dick now. "Hard to find good help these days, eh?"

"Don't bring Dusty into this," he pleaded.

But Moore only sneered. "And why wouldn't I bring your kid into this?

"This is between you and me. Dusty has nothing to do with this."

"Wrong, Grayson. This has _everything _to do with your kid."

"Daddy?"

Dick's attention snapped to the small bundle held in another man's arms. "Dusty!"

"Daddy!" His son called, an almost-smile blooming on his face. He squirmed in the other man's - Dick recognized Clarke from the profile picture - Clarke's grasp and reached out for Dick. "Daddy!"

"Ain't that sweet?" Moore sneered. "Kid just wants to be with his _daddy_."

"Let him go, Moore," Dick told him, but his eyes stayed on Dusty. The smile on his son's face was turning into fear as Clarke kept his hold and Dick stayed where he was.

"Daddy?"

"We don't need to hurt the kid, Moore," Clarke begged, making Dick take a step back in surprise. He didn't think that one of the kidnappers would side with him in letting Dusty go unharmed. "We can just let him go now and-"

"Shut up!" Moore snarled. "Grayson has to learn not to interfere with another man's family. So I'm taking his kid like he took my Jacob from me!"

"It was Jacob's choice, Moore," Dick tried to reason with the crazed kidnapper, even as he subtly tried to urge Clarke to take his kid away from the madman. Moore was clearly growing more unstable by the minute and with the gun in his hand, Dick didn't want anyone else caught in the crossfire. "Jacob wanted to be a hero, just like you!"

"You shut up too! And don't talk about my Jacob!"

"Just let him go," Clarke seemed to understand Dick's signals and was carefully edging away. "Grayson's the one who talked to your kid and you've got him. Don't-"

Whatever he was about to say was cut off by a loud racket coming from the second storey.

"What's going on?" Moore shouted, still keeping his eyes trained on Dick.

It didn't take long before Harrison's voice came to them, "It's the Bat! He's-"

The announcement obviously angered Moore as he snarled at Dick, "I told you no capes!"

"Like I could keep them away from a crime in progress." Dick retorted.

But there was no reasoning with Moore. His face was twisted with anger as he said, "Doesn't matter now. I'll show you how it is to lose a son!" And the gun started to aim at Dusty.

Dick didn't think. He jumped to grab the gun from the crazy man - but Moore's finger was already on the trigger. At the last second, Dick twisted into a dive to keep himself between the gun and his son.

Pain burst in his shoulder. He thought he heard glass shattering somewhere nearby. Then the floor was hard and shot more pain into him when he landed.

But he didn't care about any of that. All he saw in his vision was a pair of frightened blue eyes...and the whole room erupted into flame.

_"Daddeeeeeeeee!"_

"Dus...ty...!" He was coughing, choking on heated air. The room was becoming sizzling - _fast_. He couldn't see Dusty anywhere. All he could see were walls of flames surrounding him.

"Dustin!" He thought he heard someone yell, but his shoulder was burning and the pain took away whatever breath he could get.

A dark shape loomed over him. He didn't know who it was, but when the figure pointed at him, instinct screamed at him to kick out. The figure crumpled, something heavy clattering to the ground a few inches away. He squinted past the heat haze in the air and saw-

A hand clamped on his leg. Dick glanced down to see Moore's crazed eyes glaring at him - one hand on his leg, and the other drawn back into a fist-

-but a shadow dropped between them and hurled the kidnapper away from him.

"Mr. Grayson!" The shadow formed into the red and black uniform of Red Robin. "You alright there, Mr. Grayson?"

Of course, there were a couple of non-capes in the vicinity. Tim had opted to use his professional vigilante tone to keep their identities intact.

"I'm fi-ine..." His voice cracked. He coughed and tried again. "I'm fine. Where's Dusty?"

"Robin has him."

"Dustin, calm down or you'll kill everyone in the house!" came Robin's frustrated voice.

And the flames sputtered, petered out. Dick gasped; choked on the smoke he'd inhaled, and tried to breathe. Red Robin helped him sit up and in between bouts of coughing, he'd pinpointed where the shout came from to see Robin, his canary yellow cape wrapped around-

"Dus...ty..."

"Daddy?" Wide blue eyes peeked out from the folds of the cape. "Daddy! S-sorry..."

"S-sorry for..." he coughed and hacked, "...for what?"

"For causing the fire," Robin explained for him, his arms still around the boy. His masked gaze was pointed as he stared at Dick. "Dustin needs to be trained _soon_."


	13. The End

Notes: All's well that ends well...or is it?

AJCrane and Konri Kari: Guess what, it's not done yet lol.

* * *

"So Clarke was never going to let Dusty be hurt." Dick repeated Radley's statement. They were back at the Manor, two days after Red Robin escorted Dick and Dusty to their home. The cops had already taken Moore, Harrison and Clarke into custody - though Moore needed a temporary hospital visit before he was locked behind bars - and the Bats had already left the half-burnt residence of one Daniel Moore.

Because of the involvement of the Bats (an anonymous phone call and a brief note summarizing the criminals' activities for the last couple of days couldn't get any more obvious than that), Radley decided to head out to Wayne Manor to check up on the victims and get their statements.

"No," Radley agreed, tucking his notepad back in his pocket. "Clarke may not have been completely on the straight and narrow, but he'd never hurt a kid."

Dick frowned, absorbing the fact and comparing it to what he knew of the man. "Didn't he kill that Senator?"

"Jones? Yeah, he did." Radley sighed, leaning back on the plush sofa. "There's no question he committed murder. That's why he got sent to Blackgate. But," the detective rubbed his dark circled eyes, "there's new evidence coming out that Jones abused his daughter. Physically, and..." he waved a hand in disgust.

Dick however, understood what the detective meant and his eyes widened in horror. Gotham, being what it was, had always had a few people with perverse tendencies so the news wasn't new to him. But he had a son now, and that only made the horror hit closer to home.

"So what happens to him now?" Dick asked.

"He'll still be charged, of course. But with a lighter sentence in comparison to the other two. Clarke was the one who mainly watched over your son. He wouldn't let the others touch him and only went along so he could make sure your son wasn't hurt too bad. Believe me when I say that the jury will take that into consideration."

"What happened to Moore and Harrison?"

"Harrison's going to be locked up for a long time; longer than his previous sentencing. And Moore?" Radley grimaced. "He's joining the guys in Arkham."

"That's comforting... I mean, how many people could escape from that place, right?" Dick smiled tightly and kept the rest of his thought to himself. Radley didn't need to know that he'd had to fight escaped Arkham inmates several times while growing up. Dick had to keep up appearances and all. "I guess I shouldn't look the gift-horse in the mouth. He's locked up, and I'm grateful for that."

"So are we," the detective chuckled and stood up. "I'd better get going. I've still got a report to finish. But I'm glad things worked out for you and your son, Mr. Grayson."

"Me too," Dick stood as well, taking a step forward to shake Radley's hand. His left arm was still in a sling, his shoulder recovering from the bullet wound. In some way, he'd been glad it was his left shoulder and not his right so he could still do most anything using his dominant hand. "Thanks for all your help, Detective."

"Do me a favor and don't mention it. We didn't even do much before Batman came to the rescue."

"Thanks anyway," Dick flashed him a half-smile.

"Just doing my job, Mister Grayson." Radley tipped his head in farewell. "Hope you and Dusty have a good life. I'd hate to have to see you again professionally."

With that, the detective made his way out of the study, expertly dodging the excited four year old running into the room and was followed by a scowling teenager.

"Daddy! Daddy look! I drew a- a- what's it called again Unca Damie?" Dusty had pretty much fully recovered from the experience with only a couple of nightmares - ones that Dick was quick to sooth him from. Dick didn't think of it at first, but he was glad he had Clarke among the kidnappers to watch over Dusty.

"It's called a 'portrait', Dustin." Damian grumbled with impatience.

"Por-tret of us!" Dusty beamed at Dick, proudly showing him a white sheet of paper, which probably came from Bruce's printer, covered in crayon drawings of six figures. Dick could make out a large man wearing a suit, a slightly smaller one with a big grin, a thin man with a mustache, two smaller figures with equally small smiles, and a tiny figure wearing the biggest grin of them all.

"Wow! What a great drawing Dusty!" Dick scooped the four year old up and placed him on his lap, earning a delighted squeal from the boy. He could already infer the answer to his next question, but he had to ask, "Who's the portrait of?"

Dusty pointed to the second largest man holding hands with the smallest figure. "That's you, Daddy! And me! And there's Grandpa Bruce," he pointed to the biggest figure, "Grandpa Alfie," he pointed to the thin man with a mustache, "then Unca Tim and Unca Damie!" He pointed to the final two figures. The smaller of the two had a straight line for a mouth that could be constituted as a small smile or a prominent frown. "I wanted to draw bats too but Unca Damie said it's too...too..." he turned to Damian, "what'd you say again, Unca Damie?"

Damian rolled his eyes. "Obvious, Dustin. I said it would be too obvious."

"But why is that bad, Daddy?" Dusty pouted. "I thought you want my drawing to be correct."

"But it's already correct, Dusty," Dick grinned. "We just don't want everyone else to know about the bats." He leaned closer and dropped his voice into a whisper, "it's our little secret."

Dusty gasped in delight. "I can keep secrets, Daddy!"

"Of course you can," Dick laughed at his son's enthusiasm, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately. He glanced once again at the childish drawing and remembered seeing familiar childish drawings of him in his Nightwing suit whenever he visited his archer best friend...

He once again leaned close to Dusty and kept his voice low enough so that only Damian and the two of them would hear, "Listen, how about I tell you another secret?"

Damian frowned and folded his arms over his chest, already knowing what Dick was about to say. "Are you certain of this, Richard?"

"You said it yourself, Damie," Dick told him, keeping one arm around his son. "You said Dusty needed training, and soon."

"Father will not agree-"

"I've already talked to Bruce and he agreed." Dick reached out and ruffled Damian's hair, earning himself a smack on the arm. "But he did give me a lot of conditions before he agreed."

Dusty, who had been quiet as Dick and Damian talked, couldn't take it anymore and demanded, "What? What conditions? What do you mean, Daddy?"

But Dick chuckled as he answered, "Would you like to have more Aunts and Uncles, Dusty?"


	14. Surprise!

Notes: Bonus epilogue! This is really the end! Hehehe

Konri Kari: What'd I tell ya? :D

* * *

"Thanks for coming by, J'onn," Dick told the Martian floating into the Cave. Dusty stood beside him, his blue eyes wide open.

"It is always a pleasure to meet your child, Richard," J'onn smiled at the awestruck boy.

"Why are you green, mister?" the boy immediately asked.

"Be polite, Dusty," Dick reprimanded him but J'onn only crouched in front of the boy.

"My name is J'onn J'onnz. You may call me J'onn," the Martian held out a hand for Dusty to shake, smiling all the while. "And I am green because I am a Martian."

"Mar...shann?" Dusty asked, taking delight when J'onn took his hand and gave it a firm shake.

"It means I am from the planet Mars."

"That means, he's different," Dick added.

"Ohh," Dusty frowned in thought then nodded. "Do you work with Daddy or with Grandpa Bruce?"

A puzzled look fell on the Martian's face. "I work with Bruce occasionally-"

"Okay!" Dusty chirped then looked back at Dick. "Is he here to teach me, Daddy?"

"Yes, he-"

"Training room this way!" Dick had barely gotten the words out before Dusty took J'onn's hand and started dragging him towards one of the isolated training rooms in the Cave's Gym. A week after the kidnapping fiasco, Bruce had cleaned out one of the training rooms and reinforced its walls with flame-retardant materials in preparation for Dusty's training. He then went on to discuss with Tim about possible teachers for his grandson.

He was all for steamrolling Dick with his choice of teachers at first, but Dick was adamant about being a part of the discussions. He didn't want just anyone to teach his son, and he didn't want Bruce to make all the decisions without his say so. J'onn was the latest cape they could all agree on: Superboy was a little too unreliable for Bruce's liking, and Raven was still unstable from Brother Blood's latest attempt on summoning Trigon. Garth was busy with Atlantis and Cerdian.

(He didn't have to recall Bruce's resounding '_NO!_' when he jokingly suggested Starfire.)

But even though the Titans couldn't spare the time to teach Dusty about his powers, they offered all sorts of advice for both Dick and Dusty to take.

_"Keep him calm for now,"_ Garth had instructed. _"Right now, he's too young to be in control of his emotions. But the longer he's happy, the less he'll give in to rage."_

_"While I am unable to meet with your son in person, Richard," _Raven offered, _"I may be able to reach him through his dreams and guide him while he sleeps."_

Damian's purposeful stride broke Dick out of his thoughts. "Has the Martian arrived yet?"

Dick nodded in reply. "He and Dusty went to the isolation room a minute ago."

"I will be monitoring their activities during each session." Damian declared. "Do not allow them to start without my presence next time." Then he strode off for the training room without another word.

And Dick could only stare at his youngest brother's back. What had he gotten himself into?


End file.
